Look At Us Now
by Alyssa Blackbourn
Summary: After the events of Civil War, Steve, Clint, and Sam go on a rescue mission and run into a lot of trouble. Steve is captured by a man with unknown intentions, and Sam and Clint, both wounded, have no choice but to turn to Tony for help. Trust is questioned and tensions run high as the team scrambles to save Steve in time. Feedback appreciated!
1. Captain's Orders

Okay, so, maybe this mission didn't quite go to plan. As Steve Rogers looked over at Clint and Sam struggling against the hordes of attackers, he frowned in frustration, trying to fight his own enemies with a gunshot wound in his abdomen—nothing he hadn't done before, but it was never easy. At least this time he wasn't fighting his best friend. This fight would have been a lot easier with his shield, but he couldn't lament about it now. A fist slammed into the side of his head, and he grunted in pain as he stumbled and his helmet fell to the ground. Nope; this was definitely not going according to plan.

It didn't take too much longer after that for Steve to realize that they were not going to win this fight. There was no way. It wasn't possible. There were just too many of them. How they had so greatly underestimated their opponents' numbers, he had no idea, but regardless, now they were screwed.

"Cap!" the captain turned when he heard Sam call him. "There's too many; what do we do?"

It didn't take more than two seconds for Steve to make a decision, and he knew Sam and Clint wouldn't like it.

"Both of you get out," he ordered, turning to block a knife attack. "Get out now! Go!"

"We're not leaving you, Cap!" Clint refused, ripping his arrow out of the chest of one of his attackers and using it to stab another attacker in the eye. Not for the first time, he scolded himself for not staying retired.

"Yes you are!" Steve snapped. "Go! If you don't, we have no shot! Falcon, take Hawkeye and go!"

"But Steve," Sam started to argue. Steve was having none of it.

"Go!"

Sam hesitated, then knocked out the closest opponent to himself and grabbed the back of Clint's uniform tightly. He unfolded his wings and shot into the air, getting as far away from the battle as he could, even as their attackers shot at them from the ground.

"What are you doing?" Clint demanded over the roar of the wind rushing past them. "We have to go back! At least drag him out, too!"

"I can only carry one of you at a time, Clint!" Sam snapped, looking down at him as his arm—and broken hand—strained to keep hold of him. "We can't go back. Captain's orders."

Clint didn't say another word, his chest aching as Sam flew him back to their, ahem, 'borrowed' Quinjet, finally touching down right beside it. Neither one was in good shape; both were bleeding—Sam rather alarmingly from his leg—and had several broken bones. They had no idea what they were going to do now, but they knew they had to decide quickly; they weren't too far from the site of their defeat, and now, if they were going to help Steve, they had to get out of there. Wordlessly, the two of them walked—or, limped, really—into the jet, and Clint got behind the controls. In minutes, they were in the air.

"So where exactly are we going?" Sam asked after a moment or two of silence.

"Somewhere I will very likely regret going," Clint replied. "But we don't really have a choice, here."

Sam just nodded, looking down at Steve's helmet in his hands. He'd snatched it up right before they took off, intending to toss it back to him, but Steve hadn't turned around. It had some blood on the outside, but a surprising amount of it on the inside as well. The sight made his stomach lurch. He couldn't help but worry about what happened to his friend—he was a super soldier, sure, but he was still human; he had his limits. He just hoped to God that somehow, they'd get him back.

By the time Clint set the jet down, Sam was barely keeping his eyes open, the wound in his leg continuing to bleed. Clint hauled himself up from his seat with a grunt of pain, and when he took a step, he nearly fell, only just catching himself on the chair.

"You okay there?" Sam asked, standing up himself with extreme effort.

"I'm fine," Clint said dismissively. "Let's go."

The master archer walked towards the back of the Quinjet, which had opened up to allow him access to the landing pad. Sam limped along behind him, his vision swimming with each step. When they got out into the open air—Sam immediately recognizing where they were and groaning internally—Clint removed an arrow from his quiver and knocked it, taking shaky aim at the lock on the door in front of him. As always, he found his target, even with his injuries, and the lock exploded. Without a word, the two wounded Avengers—or ex-Avengers, now—strolled unsteadily back into the Avengers tower for the first time in months.

Shortly after crossing the threshold, Sam's wounded leg gave out on him, and Clint reflexively caught him before he could fall—an action that nearly took them both down to the floor. Clint gritted his teeth, his numerous injuries becoming more and more painful as his adrenaline wore off. They'd just entered the living room before Clint couldn't manage it anymore, and he lowered his friend to the floor, a trail of blood being left by both of them.

"I'm gonna grab something for that," he nodded at the bleeding wound in Sam's leg. "Don't move."

"Very funny," Sam forced a chuckle. "Yeah, I was just about to go run a marathon."

"Humor's good," Clint smiled, standing up carefully. "Means you're probably not dying yet."

"Lucky me," Sam's smile was more a grimace than anything else.

Clint didn't respond, instead shuffling over to the bar, trying not to put a whole lot of pressure on his knee, which was throbbing painfully. He grabbed a towel and the strongest vodka he could find, then started making his way back over towards Sam. He froze before he even got back around the bar top when he heard Tony's voice.

"First you break in, and now you're stealing my booze?" Tony Stark had a piece of the Iron Man suit on his hand, and it was aimed right at Clint's chest. "Dick move, Barton."

"You can shoot me later, Tony," Clint shrugged. "Right now...I've got shit to do."

"What happened to you?" Tony's eyes narrowed, noticing how much pain he was in when he moved, his arm only lowering slightly.

"Tony, either help me, or shut up," Clint growled, the blood loss making him irritable. He started making his way back towards Sam, but before he even got half way there, he stopped, leaning against the wall as his vision danced.

"Barton?" concern made its way into Tony's voice, and he quickly started towards the wounded archer, just making it in time to catch him before he fell.

"Alright, there we go, easy, buddy," Tony grumbled, putting Clint's arm around his shoulders and helping him to the couch as the metal on his hand retreated back into his watch.

"No, Tony, let me go," he protested, trying to get up. Tony wouldn't let him.

"Clint, you're falling over," Tony snapped. "Give me the vodka; I have actual disinfectant, you know. I can't believe you were about to waste perfectly good alcohol on cleaning yourself up."

"Not me," Clint shook his head, his eyes moving in Sam's direction even though he couldn't see him. Tony followed his eyes, and was surprised when he saw the wounded man leaning against the wall, blood pooling under him. For a moment, he didn't speak.

"You know, this is kinda like in the movies, when a bunch of birds fly full force into the windows and kill themselves," he observed finally.

"I knew we shouldn't have come here," Sam breathed.

"Tony?" Clint craned his neck when he heard a familiar and dearly-missed voice. Sure enough, Natasha made her way into the room. "What the hell is going—?"

She broke off when she saw Clint on the couch, and after a moment, she ran to him.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"I'm fine," Clint said dismissively. "Take care of Sam."

"Tony, go," Natasha snapped. Tony hesitated for only another moment before grabbing the towel Clint had taken from the bar and going over to Sam's side, putting pressure on the wound in his outer thigh. Sam let out a grunt of pain, his eyes squeezing shut.

"Oh, did that hurt?" Tony had a wicked gleam in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Sam glared at him, but didn't say a word, a spark of guilt in his eyes. Tony glanced back at the door through which the two visitors had entered. It was then that he spotted the helmet that Sam had been carrying on the way in, but that he'd dropped when his leg gave out. Tony frowned when he saw it, and grabbed Sam's hand, putting it on the towel covering his wound, forcing him to keep pressure on it. Then he got to his feet and walked over to the helmet, picking it up. He noticed the blood on it, the crack in it, and, most disturbingly, the blood inside it.

"Where's Rogers?" he demanded after a moment. Natasha looked over at him, and when she saw Steve's helmet in his hands, her blood ran cold. Neither man answered him, so he looked up at them.

"This is not a trick question," he snapped irritably. "Where is Rogers? What happened?"

"He's gone," Sam spoke up, his voice dull.

"The hell do you mean, 'gone?'" Natasha jumped in, looking down at Clint almost accusingly.

"We were surrounded," Sam went on. "Our intel said there should have been a couple dozen guys there. It was more like a couple hundred. We had no idea what we were walking into. We were taking a beating—obviously—and Steve..."

"Cap told us to run," Clint finished when Sam trailed off. "So we ran."

"And you just left him there?" Tony gawked.

"You, of all people, have no room to talk about leaving your friends when they need you," Sam snapped weakly. "You, of all people, have no room to talk about leaving him defenseless."

"Sam," Clint warned him to back off with just one syllable.

"I didn't take Cap's shield," Tony shot back at the wounded ex-soldier. "He left it behind. Now, why did you come here, of all places?"

"We were relatively close," Clint shrugged painfully. "Hell of a lot closer than Africa. And we weren't gonna make it back to Africa."

"And we...we need your help," Sam admitted grudgingly. "There's no one else."

"What about all your buddies?" Tony couldn't help but sound a little bitter. Natasha felt a tiny smirk when she also recognized a bit of jealousy. "Like, ah...what about that ant guy?"

"Visiting his daughter on the DL," Clint replied, his headache starting to lessen just slightly now that he wasn't trying to move so much.

"Barnes?"

"On ice."

"Wanda?"

"She's ah...visiting Vision on the DL," Clint smirked.

"What?" Tony blinked.

"She thinks we don't know," the wounded archer shrugged. Tony gawked at him.

"Everybody knows," Sam added.

"Okay, well...what about your friend the crazy cat lady?" Tony tried one more time.

"He's running a nation, Tony," Sam rolled his eyes. "It's not like he can just give his responsibilities over to his girlfriend like somebody I know."

"Alright, that's it," Tony sighed. "Everybody up. We're leaving."

"Tony, you can't just throw them out," Natasha protested.

"I'm not throwing them out," Tony shook his head, reaching down and pulling Sam to his feet, allowing him to lean on him for support. "I'm driving."

Natasha smiled slightly, then helped Clint to his feet, following Tony out to the Quinjet. The two Avengers gently put their former colleagues down in the back of the jet, and Natasha volunteered to keep an eye on them, allowing Tony to slide into the pilot's seat. In a couple minutes, they were in the air.

* * *

 ** _Thanks so much for reading, everybody! Don't forget to favorite, follow, and/or comment. I hope you enjoyed! Not so sure if I want to continue this one, so your feedback is appreciated._**


	2. Doctor

When Steve finally managed to claw his way back to consciousness, he wasn't sure how much time had passed, and he was equally unclear on why he was still alive. His head was throbbing, and he felt blood trickle down the back of his neck from a still-bleeding gash. He couldn't open his eyes; it was like there were two hundred pound weights attached to each lid, keeping them shut. His limbs felt heavy, too, despite his arms being above his head. His mouth was cottony and dry, and he couldn't keep his thoughts clear. It took him another ten minutes after regaining consciousness to actually wake up, and when he did, he forced his eyes open. The room he was in was extremely dark, but he could just make out the silhouette of a metal door to his right. He groaned softly, pinching his eyes shut as he shifted his legs under him. His upper body was being supported by thick, heavy, and from what he could feel, seamless chains around his wrists. His knees were able to rest completely on the floor, and if he straightened his legs over them, he could relieve some of the stress on his shoulders, but he was too tired to even think to do that.

As Captain America struggled both to breathe evenly with all his injuries and to get his wits about him again, a light turned on above his head, and he flinched away from the sudden brightness, pinching his eyes shut. His head retaliated against both the light and the quick movement by sending a stabbing pain through his skull, and the injured super soldier gritted his teeth. He opened his eyes very slowly, allowing his brain to adjust to the light gradually. Now that he was more awake and his adrenaline was pumping, he started to take stock of his surroundings. It was a quick assessment; he was in a small, windowless, concrete room. The door to his right was thick steel and had a small window in it that was currently closed. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the chains around his wrists looped over a thick metal bar and fed through a small, metal-framed hole in the back wall.

Finally, after taking in his surroundings, he started to take stock of himself. Right off the bat, he knew he had a fractured skull. He knew he had broken at least four ribs. His gunshot wound—which, thankfully, had been a glancing blow—had fortunately stopped bleeding, but it still throbbed. He had an intense bruise on his jaw and a cut above his eye. His uniform was torn in several places and now much more red than white or blue. His left wrist was either broken or severely sprained, and his right hand was definitely broken. His legs were covered in bruises, some particularly ugly ones on his hip and thigh. He'd heal quickly, he knew, but he was not in good shape.

The last thing he noticed was how cold it was. His shaky breaths were making clouds in front of his face. He could barely feel the fingers of his left hand. His teeth were starting to chatter despite his best efforts. He wasn't quite sure how he ended up there—the last he remembered, he was still trying to fight his way out, and then there was an explosion that sent him flying—but he was sure that it couldn't end well.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, the door to his right opened, and a man walked into the room, smirking at him victoriously. He was tall and thin, kind of spindly, but oddly imposing. Steve couldn't tell what it was about him that was so unnerving—maybe the malice in his eyes, or his crooked teeth that somehow looked sharp and pointed—but whatever it was, it made goosebumps break out all over Steve's body.

"Good morning, Captain," he greeted the prisoner. "How're you feeling?"

"Who are you?" Steve demanded, his voice shaking not of his own accord as he started shivering.

"I'm who you came here to stop," the man sneered. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Doctor Lobo. This is my facility. I must admit, it was very noble of you to save your companions the way you did."

Steve didn't say anything, glaring at his captor and wondering what was going to happen to him, what this Doctor Lobo would do.

"I can see the question in your eyes, Captain," Lobo chuckled, amusement in his eyes. "And no, I'm not going to take this time to tell you everything you need to know to stop me."

"Where are they?" Steve demanded boldly with a growl.

"Who?" the doctor asked with a smirk.

"The people you kidnapped," Steve snapped. "The people who just wanted to get away, just wanted safety, which you exploited."

"Some are dead," Lobo shrugged. "Some wish they were. The rest are waiting to find out which category they'll fall into."

"There were children," Steve protested in horror. "Dozens of innocent children. All those people were innocent."

"I'm sure," Lobo nodded. "Yeah, the kids don't usually last."

"You're sick," Steve spat, hatred in his words.

"And you're very likely to die in the next few days," Lobo grinned wolfishly. "Poor Captain America. You had the world at your back not long ago. Now you're going to rot in here alone. So much for loyalty, huh?"

Steve didn't have an answer to this; if anything, he hoped Lobo was right, and that Clint and Sam would not come back for him. Not unless they got some serious backup. Otherwise, none of them would make it out. Lobo smiled at his silence, then took a step back, grabbing the door handle before looking at him again.

"Enjoy your stay, Captain Rogers," he said after a moment. "I hope you'll find it as educational as I will."

Steve watched him go, and let out a shaky breath as his chest heaved painfully, having done his best to steady his breathing while Lobo was there. He didn't want to know why the doctor was so excited to get his hands on him. But he had a sinking feeling that he was going to find out anyway.

* * *

When Clint opened his eyes, sunlight was filtering in through the window to his left, and he sat up slowly, grimacing at every movement.

"Finally," the master archer turned towards the voice and saw Tony unhitch himself from the wall and walk towards him. "Look alive, Barton. Tell me what happened."

"I'd love to," Clint groaned, rubbing his eyes gingerly. "You first."

"You passed out on the jet," Tony sighed, sounding irritated. "You're at the New Facility. I had Helen Cho come in and patch you up. You broke a rib and bruised three more, dislocated your knee, bruised your jaw and your..." he waved a hand over his face in a circular motion, "face in general, and sprained your left wrist and ankle. Your turn. What happened?"

"Are you going to turn us in?" Clint demanded, raising an eyebrow, his guard up.

"You're not handcuffed to the bed, are you?" Tony shot back. "Come on, Barton; what the hell happened?"

Clint hesitated, studying his former colleague, his former friend, carefully, trying to determine if he was telling the truth. Finally, he gave a slow nod.

"A number of refugees went missing as they were fleeing their country," Clint began. "You remember hearing about that?"

"Of course," Tony nodded.

"Well, we got information that it was actually a lot of refugees," he continued. "Close to two hundred. And we talked to their families—the ones that actually had families that made it out—and they all had the same story. A tall man approached them, told them he could get them out of the country undetected. He was a doctor providing aid to the region, and could smuggle people out among his supplies. He always came when there was no more space anywhere else. So the families split up, and everyone who went with that man disappeared."

"And you went after him," Tony finished, rubbing his eyes.

"You weren't going to," Clint shot back. "Since you signed those accords, you can't do shit unless your masters give the okay. We weren't gonna sit on our asses through all the bureaucracy."

"You went in with just the three of you," Tony snapped. "You're lucky you weren't killed."

"And who do you suggest we should have asked for help?" Clint argued. "The only ones we could have asked were you and Nat, and while I'm very confident that she would have helped us out, no questions asked, you haven't exactly been a reliable ally lately, Stark."

Tony opened his mouth to argue, but broke off when Natasha walked into the room. Black Widow smiled when she saw her best friend awake.

"Finally," she commented. "You had me worried. Actually, you had a lot of people worried. Laura says hi."

"Thanks, Nat," Clint chuckled. "Where's Sam?"

"In the other room," Natasha told him, folding her arms over her chest and nodding back the way she came. "He's still out. He lost a lot of blood."

"Is he gonna be okay?" Hawkeye raised an eyebrow. "Cap seems very fond of him, so I'd hate to have to break the news if something happened."

"He should be fine," Natasha assured him.

"Hey, Barton, stay focused," Tony interrupted. "Where is Rogers?"

"Well, with any luck," he sighed, throwing the blankets off of himself and starting to get up, "in the same compound we were trying to go to."

"Barton, you are not going back out there," Tony shook his head.

"The hell I'm not," Clint scoffed. "I'm good to go. I got a brace on my knee, ankle, and wrist. I can shoot just fine like that. And somebody has got to go after Cap."

"Somebody will," Tony promised. "But not you."

"Then who?" Clint challenged.

"Us," Tony shot back. "We will bring Cap back. You're hurt; you need to rest up. Who knows when we're going to need to pretend to need you?"

"No," Clint refused, standing up and trying to hide the pain on his face. "No, I left him there, I'm bringing him back. You're welcome to come along, but I'm going. This is not a debate."

"God, your whole team just makes me want to..." he put his hands out in front of him, palms facing each other, fingers tight and hooked like claws, as if he were strangling an invisible foe, and shook his hands back and forth in frustration. "Can't _any_ of you be logical, even for a minute?"

"Come with me or don't, Stark," Clint growled. Then his face softened slightly and he grudgingly admitted, "I could use your help."

Tony hesitated, studying his long-time friend and former colleague. "I'll help," he agreed at last. "But we're not running into this thing half-cocked like you three idiots. I can't believe I'm saying this, but we need a plan of attack. So," he clapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth, "let's get started."

* * *

 ** _Thank you so much again for reading, everybody! Please let me know what you thought! I'm still unsure about this one; I may just publish what I got and call it a day. I'm kinda stuck anyway, so if you want more, you're gonna have to tell me._**


	3. Plan of Attack

Hours had passed since Doctor Lobo's visit, and Steve wasn't doing so well. His body and mind were fighting violently between sleep and wakefulness. His injuries and general exhaustion were pulling him towards unconsciousness, but the bitter, biting cold and the fact that, every few minutes, a blaring alarm went off in his cell for a few seconds were yanking him back towards consciousness. It was a tiring, endless battle. Finally, his exhaustion proved too powerful, and he tumbled into the warm, inviting darkness, but only for a few minutes. Just as he'd become truly asleep, a strong jolt of electricity pumped through his body, and he was violently tugged back to the waking world as a scream of pain ripped free of his throat. After a few seconds, it was over, and Steve let his head hang, gasping for air. He wondered how much longer he could last without sleep, shifting his numb legs underneath him, his body trembling both with exhaustion and cold. Another blaring alarm sounded, and he flinched back, grimacing at the sound.

The wounded super soldier lifted his head when the door opened, and watched as a guard—wearing the same uniform as the rest of his colleagues: black boots, black pants, dark blue shirt under a black coat, black gloves, an automatic rifle, and a black ski mask—held the door as another person came scurrying in, wearing a thin white coat zipped almost all the way up, heavy gray pants, and gray, laceless shoes, the kind inmates wear. When Steve blinked away the blurriness from his vision, he realized that he was looking at a young girl. She was about fifteen years old, and her dark hair was pulled away from her face in a neat ponytail. She wouldn't look him in the eye, and looked absolutely petrified as she came towards him. Captain America felt sympathy tug at his heart, but still, he knew he couldn't let his guard down.

"What's going on?" he demanded shakily, his voice not nearly as strong or loud as he'd hoped. The girl's eyes darted towards him, the fear in their dark depths seeming to quintuple in seconds. It was almost as if she were begging him to be quiet. The look succeeded at temporarily shocking him into silence, and she took that time to reach into the small, white satchel bag over her left shoulder and pull out a tablet, turning it on. As she fiddled around with the device, Steve noticed the silvery metal collar around her neck, just visible under her coat, and a rock formed in the pit of his stomach.

After finding the right program, she set the tablet down and pulled out what looked like an oval-shaped, white chip clip. It wasn't until she clipped it around his left index finger that he realized it was a wireless heart rate monitor.

"What are you doing?" the soldier's guard went up again, and he quickly clenched his fist and flicked off the monitor clip. The girl looked as though she'd stopped breathing, but Steve stood his ground. "You stay away from me."

The girl stared at him in pure terror and hurriedly snatched up the monitor, trying to reattach it, but Steve refused to open his hands, no matter how much it hurt to keep them closed. After a few seconds, the girl let out an agonized cry and fell to her knees, one hand supporting herself on the floor and the other flying to her neck. Steve gawked at her in shock and horror as she gasped for air, her body now shaking.

"Let her work, Captain," the guard behind her spoke up, his voice muffled by the mask and slightly accented. "Or she pays the price."

Steve felt sick to his stomach, staring first at him before his eyes shifted back to her. The young girl stared back at him with wide eyes, begging him without words to cooperate. After a few seconds, he wordlessly opened his hands, resigning himself to whatever it was she was supposed to do to him. The girl looked at him gratefully, fighting back tears as she shakily scooped up the monitor and stood up, clipping it again to his left index finger. Then she picked up the tablet and took a stylus from the pocket of her coat, tapping at the screen, her hands trembling. She still refused to look at the trapped soldier unless absolutely necessary as she went about her tasks. She unclipped the monitor after about a minute, took his temperature via his ear, shined a light in his eyes, and did various other tests, all the while making notes on the tablet. It was all over in less than seven minutes, and the girl quickly hurried out of the room, keeping her head down. Steve stared after her, baffled and concerned, as the guard left as well, closing and locking the door behind him.

Captain America was left alone again, his adrenaline now preventing him from trying to drift back to sleep as he attempted to make sense of what he'd just seen and to figure out what it implied. Only twenty minutes passed before the door opened again, and he looked up to see Doctor Lobo stroll back into the room, looking smug as ever.

"What the hell was that?" Steve demanded immediately, his anger serving to steady his voice. "Who was that girl? What was she doing?"

"Her name is..." the doctor trailed off, his brow furrowing. "You know, I can't recall. I'll have to check my records later. She goes by 'number zero-nine-seven,' though. Or, she does now. She's one of the few I've plucked from the masses. My little pets. And she was helping me keep an eye on your vitals."

"Why did you hurt her?" the captain snarled, his anger growing with every word the so-called doctor spoke.

"Because she wasn't getting her job done," Lobo shrugged, as if it were simple. "My pets are quite aware that their actions—and inactions—have consequences."

"She wouldn't even speak," Steve shook his head in disgust.

"She's not allowed to," Lobo chuckled, amused by Steve's disdain for him. "None of them are. Not unless I tell them to."

"You're sick," Steve spat the words, disgust in his eyes.

"You've said that," Lobo chuckled. "And maybe it's true, but in the end, I've still got you right where I want you."

"And where exactly is that?" Steve challenged. "What is it you want with me?"

"Now why would I ruin that surprise?" Lobo smirked. "Get ready, Captain; I've only just begun my work with you."

With this, the doctor turned and left, but as he walked away, Steve felt the tension on his chains increase, and he drew a quick breath as they pulled him upwards. The soldier let out a sharp cry of pain when he felt the hard metal bite into his traumatized flesh. The chains continued getting shorter until his knees were just a few inches off the floor. Steve had to force himself to breathe, his right hand and wrist screaming in pain. To relieve the strain, he pulled himself to his feet, which allowed his wrists to come down in front of him. He felt his biceps tingle as blood flow was restored, and his legs felt like jelly as they struggled to support him.

Letting out a weary, trembling sigh, the captain let his head fall forward, his bruised forehead resting against the chains. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew that he was well and truly screwed at this point. The security was too tight. The civilians were in the way. He himself just couldn't keep his eyes open for long. The odds were not in his favor, and Steve knew, in spite of himself, that if he didn't find a way out soon, he probably never would.

* * *

"Alright," Tony sighed, sitting down at the table in their briefing room, Natasha across from him and Clint lingering in the entryway. "Tell me what you got."

Hawkeye hesitated, then slowly sat down at the end of the table. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. "We tracked the missing refugees to a compound in northern Canada. Like, _way_ northern. North enough that it made sense why no authorities had discovered its location. It also helped that it was cloaked from satellite view. We only found it because we managed to find the organization that this doctor was supposedly working for and tagged a bunch of shipments. Turns out, he really does work for them, and he also was having supplies diverted to his compound. Everything looked on the up-and-up until we realize that the supplies seemed to literally disappear off the face of the Earth. They all got to the same location, and then we lost signal and couldn't see anything on satellite. So, we went by to check it out, sat on the place for a while, got a sense of their numbers, and went back to get a plan together. We had to move fast; people were still going missing. Children were going missing, Tony. Some of them were as young as seven years old."

"I get why you went, Barton," Tony shook his head. "I just think you weren't terribly smart about it."

"We monitored that place for weeks," Clint said defensively. "There weren't supposed to be more than fifty total, and only a couple dozen guarding the outside."

"Well, fifty or two hundred, we're going back," Stark shrugged. "And very soon."

"We should plan more, Tony," Natasha argued. "I want Steve back, too, but getting all of us killed seems like a dumb rescue plan."

"They won't be expecting another attack so quickly," Tony pointed out. "If we go tonight, we'll take them by surprise. I'll try to get in touch with Vision and apparently Wanda, and even if they don't answer, we'll have the Iron Legion and way more fire power. Look, are you in or out, Romanoff?"

Natasha hesitated, glancing between Tony and Clint before letting out a weary sigh, "I'm in."

"Great," Tony seemed almost relieved. "We leave in four hours."

* * *

 ** _Thank you to everyone who provided feedback! Still not too sure about this one, but here's the next chapter for those of you who asked. Don't forget to comment and all that jazz._**


	4. Trap

By the time the Avengers—or whatever it was they were supposed to be called now—began nearing their destination, the sun had long-since set, and with the Quinjet in stealth mode, they were nearly undetectable from the ground. Clint was at the controls, his quiver now replenished, and Natasha and Tony were in the back, getting ready to go; they hadn't been able to get ahold of Wanda or Vision, so they were going alone. The Iron Legion was just a few miles behind them, waiting until they were needed. Just like the last time, Clint set the jet down a ways away from the actual building and opened up the back. At the last minute, they'd decided to bring along two ATVs so that he and Natasha could keep up with Tony.

"Alright," Tony said as Clint and Natasha climbed onto their respective four-wheelers. "Keep your eyes peeled. I'll let you know if I see anything."

With this, Iron Man launched himself up into the air, and the two master assassins took off through the thin forest. Before long, they made it to the compound—a stone structure designed to blend into the landscape, standing two stories high and about the length of a football field—and Clint couldn't help but let shock into his expression when he found that the whole place was deserted. There wasn't a soul in sight.

"You sure this is the place, Barton?" Tony asked, looking over at him from where he hovered in the air as Clint got off his ATV. "I expected to be fighting by now."

"This is the place," Clint glared at his teammate.

"If you say so," Tony shrugged. "I'll have the Iron Legion stand watch out here; let's go look around."

* * *

Steve looked up when the door to his prison opened once again, and scowled when he saw Doctor Lobo standing in front of him, looking as smug as ever.

"What do you want?" the exhausted soldier demanded, his eyes heavy and his legs numb.

"I have a treat for you, Captain," Lobo grinned. Two guards came in behind him and went over to the prisoner, releasing the chains around his wrists only to securely restrain them behind his back. They pushed him forward, forcing him to walk, and Steve stumbled slightly before he righted himself, his chest heaving as pain shot through him with every movement. Thankfully, most of his wounds were healing nicely, but they were in no way healed completely. "Come with me."

Steve glared at the man before him, reluctantly moving his feet to keep up as the guards pushed him onwards. When he left his cell, he was met by six more guards, all taking up positions around him, but there was no need for quite that much force; trailing behind Doctor Lobo were two young kids—the girl from earlier and a boy a bit younger than her, both dressed in identical outfits—meaning that Steve would not fight back, lest they get hurt in the process.

Steve was led down a series of dimly-lit, slightly damp concrete hallways, until they stopped in front of a metal door that Lobo promptly opened. Inside, there was a large screen taking up at least half of one wall, a couple computers on a glass table off to one side, and, as if just to complicate things more, two more guards and a young girl of no more than ten, wearing the same outfit as the first two. Steve swallowed hard, then allowed the guards holding his arms to push him into a metal chair bolted to the floor and secure him in place. His arms were restrained behind his back by metal cuffs mounted to a thick metal plate, each cuff taking up three quarters of his forearm, not allowing him any leverage and not much range of motion.

"What is this about?" the super soldier demanded. "Why am I here?"

"You'll see," Lobo smirked. One of the guards went over to the computers and tapped a few keys. All at once, the huge screen came to life, and Steve's breath caught in his throat when he saw Clint walking slowly and carefully down a concrete hallway, an arrow knocked and his bow at the ready.

"Oh, no," Steve mumbled to himself.

"It seems your friend just couldn't seem to leave you behind," Lobo observed. "Not a very smart move on his part; he won't find anything. And, of course, there's the fact that that whole building is rigged to blow."

Steve snapped his head to the side, looking at the doctor in horror. "What?" he gasped finally, his face becoming paler than it already was.

"We're not in the building you attacked, Captain," Lobo chuckled. "We never were. If anything, that place was like a warehouse or a halfway point for my supplies and my subjects. They won't find anything useful, and once I'm sure they've gone deep enough inside, I'll blow the place sky high."

"They?" Even more color drained from Steve's face at the mention of the pronoun, hardly daring to breathe.

"Ah, yes," Lobo nodded, waving a hand in the direction of the guard at the computer. The guard hit a few more keys and the large screen in front of the captive split into three, with the feed showing Clint on the bottom and two more up on top in an upside-down pyramid. Steve was sure his heart stopped beating when he saw Natasha and Tony all searching the building.

"Please," Steve gasped. "Please, please, you...you don't have to do this...please, just don't do this...don't kill them; I'm begging you."

"Again, that's very noble of you, Captain," Lobo chuckled. "But unfortunately, your friends pose a significant threat to my plans."

Steve stared at him in horror, his eyes wide and his lips parted, before he turned back to the screen, silently begging his friends to turn and run, praying they'd just give up and go home, while at the same time knowing they wouldn't. It just wasn't in their nature.

* * *

Tony moved slowly through the dark hallway, one floor below the surface, searching for any sign of their missing friend, but so far, he'd found nothing. After clearing every single room in the long hall, the billionaire let out a sigh.

"Anybody got anything?" he asked his two companions, who had each taken a different floor.

"Nothing on the main floor," Clint reported.

"And nothing on the top floor," Natasha told him with a sigh.

Tony groaned in frustration, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he shook his head and spoke again, "Alright, guys; let's head out. He's not here."

He turned, about to head back towards the stairs, when he heard a noise behind him in the room he just cleared. Spinning back around, he saw nothing, but he could hear the noise again, like a muffled voice.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., gimme somethin'," Tony said with a frown, still looking around, trying to find the source of the noise.

"Detecting an air current coming from the floor in the far right corner," F.R.I.D.A.Y. reported, and Tony quickly flew over to the opposite side of the concrete room. He picked up a stack of crates that were resting there, and was met with a metal trap door.

"Guys, get down here," Tony ordered over their secure channel. "I've got something."

In minutes, first Clint and then Natasha came into the room. It only took one look at the trap door for them to understand what was going on, and both quickly readied their weapons once more. Once they were ready, Tony reached down and ripped the trap door off its hinges. There was a ladder descending into a dark abyss, and the three of them exchanged glances before Tony flew down first, followed by Natasha and then Clint. Once they were down the ladder, there was only one place to go: down a short hallway with a metal grated in-floor air vent making up the center of it, at the end of which was a thick metal door. Now that they were down there, all three of them could tell what the sound was; someone was screaming.

"Rogers?" Tony called, taking a few steps closer to the door.

"Guys, I don't like this," Clint spoke up, sounding tense. "Why would they leave him here with no one to guard him? This is screaming 'trap' right now."

"Even if it is a trap, are you really telling me you'd rather leave right now without first checking to see if it's him?" Tony shot back, again drawing nearer to the door.

"Clint's right, Tony," Natasha added with a sigh.

"Rogers, can you hear us?" Tony ignored them both, but still didn't make a move to open the door.

* * *

"Come on, guys, please, just go..." Steve muttered under his breath. "That's not me; don't open the door..."

"Oh, it's as you as it can be without the genuine article," Lobo told him with a smirk. "We had the recordings of your screams, but we also had several recordings of your voice; enough to create a program that sounds just like you."

"Please," Steve tried begging again, pulling at his restraints as hard as he could but getting nowhere and only causing himself more pain. "Please, just stop this! Whatever you want from me, you don't have to hurt them!"

"On the contrary," Lobo shook his head, "I do."

"I'll do anything," Captain America could hear the desperation in his own voice as his chest heaved. "Please, I will do anything, just don't kill them."

"You'll do anything anyway," Lobo grinned at him like a snake. They heard Tony ask if Steve could hear him, and the doctor turned to the guard at the computer. "Raymore; start replying to Mr. Stark."

* * *

"Rogers!" Tony tried one more time, just looking for a break in the screams, something to tell him that whatever was behind the door wasn't a recording.

"T...Tony!" The voice was muffled and hard to decipher through the thick metal, but there was no denying it; it was Steve. "Tony, is that you?"

Clint and Natasha looked at each other in shock, then rushed forward until they were standing at the door, trying to figure a way in; there was no door handle, and the keypad on the right hand wall had been destroyed.

"It's us, Steve!" Natasha called, then clenched her teeth when she heard him scream again. "We'll have you out in a few; don't worry!"

"Talk to us, Spangles!" Tony yelled to be heard through the door. "What's going on in there?"

"P-Please," they heard Steve gasp, "please, just hurry!"

That was all Tony needed to hear. "Stand back," he ordered his companions. Clint and Natasha quickly shuffled back from him as far as they could, and Tony fired one powerful blast, sending the door flying into the room. Without hesitation, Tony flew into the room, and as soon as he did, he regretted it. Steve, of course, was not there. In his place was easily the largest bomb Tony had ever seen. It had been set off when it sensed motion—i.e. when the door was blasted into the room—and its ten-second delay was down to five.

"Guys, run!" Iron Man ordered, starting to fly back as fast as he could, but he wasn't fast enough; he only made it half way down the thirty-foot hallway before the bomb detonated, and the last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness was seeing Natasha pull Clint into the air vent.

* * *

"No!" Steve shouted in horror, again yanking on his restraints, which just made all the guards tense, aiming their guns at him as all the video feeds cut out, dissolving into static. The still-wounded captain stared at the screen in open-mouthed horror, feeling as though he might be sick. He could hardly believe his eyes; he'd just watched his friends die. Crushing helplessness settled in his chest, and he had to remind himself to breathe, fighting off tears.

"I hope you understand now that no one's coming to save you, Captain," Lobo's voice was cold and taunting. "There's no getting out of here. Not until I'm done with you."

Steve didn't answer, hardly able to breathe as he kept staring at the blank screen. Lobo just smirked and nodded at the guards, and before Steve knew it, they were bringing him back to his cell. This time, the chains had been shortened yet again, and he was now forced to stand, whether he wanted to or not. He hardly noticed; his entire body felt numb after what he'd seen. It was like losing Bucky all over again, except now the devastation was magnified threefold. All his thoughts were foggy, like they just couldn't seem to form. What was he supposed to do now? Three of his closest friends, most trusted allies—and yes, he still counted Tony among those, despite everything that happened—were gone.

Finally, Steve let his head hang, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw. There was nothing he could do to save Clint, Natasha, or Tony now. But he damn well could avenge them.

* * *

 ** _Thank you all very much for the positive feedback! I'll try to keep this story going for you all! Thank you for reading, and don't forget to comment, favorite, and all that jazz._**


	5. Start Here

**_Sorry, guys; this is gonna be a short one. School has started again, and I've got a pretty demanding course load (I'm going to be spending 10 hours a week in chem labs alone. Seriously, y'all should see my schedule. Clearly, I've lost my mind), so chapters might be a bit slower for the foreseeable future (I'll see what I can do over the long weekend, but no promises). Still, I hope you enjoy!_**

* * *

When Tony opened his eyes, he had a splitting headache and couldn't see a thing. After a moment of panic, he realized that he could see just fine—he could even make out vague shapes in front of him—but it was just incredibly dark. His suit was struggling to reboot itself, the damage done by the explosion and subsequent building collapse having been extensive. Tony was pinned under mounds of rubble, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move. Upon realizing he was trapped, his heart began to race, panic setting in once more. The billionaire closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths and calm down.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., how're we lookin'?" he asked after a moment. He got a muffled grumble of static in response, and he let out a sigh. "That good, huh?"

Groaning and shifting as best he could, he tried to remember if he'd landed on his back or his stomach when the bomb went off. He could vaguely see boulders in front of his face, but that didn't necessarily mean he was facing the surface. Finally, he decided it was worth a shot; when his suit managed to power up (as much as it could), he quickly fired a blast straight ahead from his chest. He couldn't really see what kind of difference that made, but after a few minutes, he heard the rubble shift above him, felt some of the weight lessen, and before he knew it, he was staring up at the night sky. And then, before he could do anything else, he felt himself rising out of the massive hole in the ground, and when he made it to the surface, he saw Vision, Wanda, and Sam all standing at the back of the building; only part of the structure had collapsed, and it was mostly still intact.

"Well, good of you three to join the party," Tony teased when Wanda set him down again. He quickly ejected from his ruined suit, stepping out of it shakily and stumbling before Sam caught him.

"Are you alright, Mr. Stark?" Vision asked, sounding concerned.

"Oh, yeah, I'm good," Tony assured him dizzily. "When did you guys get here?"

"Ten minutes ago," Sam told him, releasing his grip when he was sure Tony wouldn't fall. "The hell happened?"

"We, ah...we went after Rogers, and we...we heard him down in the cellar, but...it was a trap. There was a bomb. We triggered it when we went in after him," Tony explained. Then he looked around and frowned. "Where are Natasha and Barton?"

"We don't know," Wanda responded. "We only found you when you sent up that blast."

"Well they gotta be around here somewhere!" Tony fought to keep the worry and panic from his voice. "Come on! Use the Force and pull up some more rocks!"

Wanda gave him a dirty look, but turned back to the wreckage anyway, lifting more and more pieces of the ruined building off of the lowest floor. Finally, they could see the air vents, and Tony stopped her.

"I saw them jump into one of those right before the bomb went off," he reported. Without a word, Sam unfolded his wings and jumped down into the hole, the wings slowing his descent and allowing him to land lightly on his feet.

"Barton!" he called, unable to see clearly into the vents; they were still half obscured by debris, and dirt and rocks were wedged into the openings. "Romanoff! You in there?"

Sam heard a muffled, unintelligible reply, and he quickly got to work moving as much debris as he could, with Wanda's assistance from above. Before long, they managed to uncover the two master assassins, and they were relieved to see that both of them were unhurt.

"It's about time," Natasha grumbled, pushing open the grate that had protected them from the majority of the debris and standing up. "It was getting a little cramped in there."

"Thanks for the assist," Clint added, getting to his feet as well. "Good call on the air vent, Nat."

"Yeah," Natasha nodded absently. "Steve had the same idea while we were on the run from Hydra. I figured, if it worked then..."

"Smart," Clint smirked.

"Yeah, yeah, one at a time; let's go," Sam held his arm out towards Natasha, and she stepped towards him. Falcon wrapped his arm around her midsection, then took off into the air, setting her down once they made it back to solid ground. He turned to go back for Clint, but he found that he was already touching down beside them, thanks to Wanda.

"Well, I get how Sam knew where we were," Tony sighed. "But how did you two?"

"I got your message," Wanda explained. "Vision went back to the New Facility and found Sam, who told him what happened, and then we all went after you."

"Okay, yeah, speaking of that," Tony turned to Vision. "Really, Vision? All this time, never once thought, 'hmm, maybe I should bring her in?'"

"I see what you're upset about, Mr. Stark, but I would like to remind you that it's very unlikely I could have brought her in even if I wanted to," Vision said defensively.

"Not the time, guys," Sam cut in. "What happened?"

"It was a trap," Clint sighed. "From what I could tell, they were never here in the first place. We attacked a dummy location."

"Yeah, but Steve is definitely still in a lot of trouble," Tony added.

"Those sounds weren't real, Tony," Natasha reminded him.

"But they had to come from somewhere, right?" the billionaire argued. Natasha didn't respond, chewing her lip instead. "Wherever he is, he's hurt. Those screams were recorded, not manufactured. We need to find him fast."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Wanda asked, still not exactly Tony's biggest fan but willing to do almost anything to help Steve.

"Let's see, the last place anybody saw him was right here, right?" Tony sighed as he studied his ruined suit, which was now barely managing to stay upright where he'd left it.

"Yep," Clint nodded solemnly. "Right here."

"Well," Stark turned on his heels to look at them, "then let's start here."

* * *

 ** _Like I said, it's pretty short. Just something to tide you guys over until I can figure out how I'm gonna make time for this. I'm not giving up on it, so don't worry, but I'm also not going to be able to churn out a chapter a day anymore. Thanks for understanding, and don't forget to review, favorite, and follow!_**


	6. It Had to Work

Steve wasn't sure how long it had been since he saw Tony, Clint, and Natasha murdered before his eyes, only that it had been at least a couple days—his minor injuries had all healed, and his more major wounds had finally become bearable. In that time, his chains had been lengthened again, and he was back onto his knees. Something else had changed, too—now, instead of bitter cold, the room was unbearably hot, and the humidity was so high every breath felt like he was drowning. His uniform was clinging to his drenched skin, making him feel claustrophobic as he knelt there in the middle of the room. He had been visited several times by the doctor's unwilling assistants: once by the same girl he met the first time around, and three more times by new kids that he didn't recognize, further confirming to him that a few days had passed. They were all children, Steve had noticed. The oldest he'd met was about sixteen. Why all the people the doctor was "keeping" were children, he had no idea, but he also wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

They were still trying to keep him awake, but it was getting harder. The physical exhaustion was only getting more extreme as time went on. Even now that his injuries were much less painful, his muscles were aching from being so tense from the cold and now so dehydrated by the heat. His head was pounding both from his fractured skull and from the fact that he couldn't sleep. He guessed that he'd only managed to rack up half an hour of even something close to sleep in the time since he'd first woken up. The loud buzzer that sounded every few minutes made him flinch every time, and at this point, the sleep deprivation was starting to weigh on his mind. His thoughts were hazy. He couldn't keep his eyes open. Every time he tried to come up with a plan, his mind would wander, and he'd soon forget anything he came up with. It was frustrating on top of everything else.

Still, he kept trying. He had to get out of there. He owed it to Tony and Clint and Natasha—and Sam, who may have died before he could even get help, since he wasn't there during the failed rescue mission—to get out and make Lobo pay for what he'd done. He owed it to Lobo's victims. He owed it to himself. And so, he kept trying, kept looking for a solution.

He knew there was a pattern. There was a routine to how they were coming to check on him. He knew that. The thing was, since he couldn't sleep, time was becoming a blur. He had no idea how much time passed between visits; every time he tried to count, his thoughts would trail off and slow. He had to get it together. He had to focus. He had to get out of there, or his friends would have died for nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Steve looked up at his restraints. The seamless chains encircled his wrists tightly, and were secured with a thick lock several feet above his hands. Even with him on his knees, if he stood up, he still couldn't quite reach it. And even if he could reach it, he wasn't sure he could break it.

 _That is ridiculous,_ he thought to himself. _I can punch a punching bag so hard it rips itself out of the ceiling. I have lifted—hell, thrown—motorcycles with ease. I have literally run through walls. I should be able to break a damn padlock._

Still, he wasn't sure, considering how exhausted he was. But then, what choice did he really have? They weren't going to let him out of his restraints again any time soon. Breaking the lock was his only play.

Alright, so he had that figured out. But now he had to deal with how he was going to manage to get out of the room. There were two cameras on him—one in front and one behind—and the door didn't have a handle on the inside. It seemed impossible. But he knew it wasn't. It couldn't be. He just had to think.

Finally, after God knew how long of fruitless attempts at planning and countless unfinished thoughts, it dawned on him. There was one guard stationed outside his cell of a room at all times. Just one; he paced the door and Steve could see the shadows of his feet under the crack. All he had to do was lure him in, get him to come close, and maybe...

It could work. It had to work.

Taking a deep breath, Steve began to convincingly feign extreme pain in his abdomen. Groaning at first, he slowly built up to screams, even forcing tears from his eyes and gritting his teeth as he let anguish play across his face. After a few minutes of this, the guard finally opened the door.

"What's the problem?" he growled irritably.

"I...I don't know..." Steve gasped, pretending to bite back a scream. "My...my stomach...God, it hurts so bad...please, you've gotta help me..."

The guard hesitated, seeming unsure, even though Steve could only see his eyes and mouth. The super soldier screamed again, and the guard tensed.

"Alright, alright, I'll take a look; just quiet down," the man agreed finally. He put his gun across his back, and Steve let himself gasp for air, flexing his feet so his toes were on the floor, ready to push himself up, as the guard came closer.

Just as the masked man reached for him, Steve summoned his remaining strength and shot up to his feet, driving his knee into the man's face. The guard grunted in pain, but before he could stumble out of range, Steve quickly spun him around and wrapped his arm around his throat in a sleeper hold. The guard tried fighting, but it was no use, and in seconds, he was unconscious. Steve let him fall, then immediately started climbing the chains above his head towards the lock, knowing he didn't have much time. He heard shouting in the distance, and his chains started to shorten, disappearing behind the back wall. Steve grit his teeth and finally grabbed the lock, pulling on it with all his strength. The chains were pulling him up towards the ceiling and the thick metal bar that spanned the width of the room. The soldier pulled again and again, but the lock wouldn't budge. Finally, he let go of the chains with his left hand so that he was hanging exclusively from the lock as he continued to rise off the floor, lifted his weight up as best he could, then pulled down with all his strength and all his weight.

As if an answer to his prayers, the lock broke at last, and he was allowed to fall to the floor. The wounded man stumbled, but managed to stay upright, and grabbed the gun off of the guard he'd incapacitated, quickly checking the clip before starting for the door. At the last minute, he paused and went back to the guard, searching his body. He found a satellite phone and three replacement magazines, and could hardly contain his relief. He quickly pocketed the magazines, and as he ran out the door and down the hallway, he dialed a number he'd made himself memorize and brought the phone to his ear, praying for another miracle.

* * *

It had been four days since the team had lost Steve, and three since they'd failed to rescue him. The six heroes were still at the New Facility—despite the risks—searching for their missing friend. Tony and Natasha were trying to track the activity just outside the area that was cloaked from satellite view—standing to reason, they had to get Steve out of that area, and to do that, they had to have left the cloaked area—but so far, they hadn't had much luck tracking that activity back to Steve. Clint was with them, wanting to at least feel like he was going something, and trying to keep the morale up. Wanda was getting more and more anxious as time went on, so Vision was in the training center with her, helping her blow off steam. And Sam, well...Sam wanted to be alone. He was in the gym, unleashing a string of furious punches on the hanging punching bag, frustration and worry fueling each and every hit.

Along with the frustration and worry, guilt was gnawing at his insides as well. He should have been there. He never should have left Steve behind. He should have gone back for him. He should have fought harder. Maybe then, Steve would be safe.

But guilt was doing him no good. And so, he fought. He let his guilt and anger fuel him. He was lost in it, attacking the bag with everything in him. He was so consumed by it, that he almost didn't notice when his phone started ringing in his gym bag. Reluctantly, the soldier ceased his assault, and went over to his bag, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat from his face as he fished out his phone, barely glancing at the unfamiliar number before answering.

"Hello?"

"Sam!" the connection was weak, and the line crackled, but Sam would know that voice anywhere. "Sam, thank God; I thought you might be dead!"

"Steve," Sam gasped in shock before he snapped himself out of it, quickly running for the room Tony, Natasha, and Clint had made into their headquarters. "Steve, stay on the line, man; we're gonna find you. Are you okay? What happened?"

"I took out a guard," Steve explained. "I don't...I'm not sure where I'm going, but anywhere's better than there. Don't know how much longer I can talk; the guards are closing in."

"Just stay on the line, Cap!" Sam ordered, running as fast as he could up the stairs, taking them two at a time. "Talk to me; where are you? What's outside?"

"Snow," Steve replied, breathing just as heavily as Sam, or perhaps more so. "Lots of snow. A couple trees way out in the distance. Kinda weird, since they kept my room so hot. I can't tell where I am; I can't stop running or they're gonna ca—shit!"

Sam heard a volley of gunfire, and his heart almost stopped beating. He only allowed himself to breathe when he heard Steve gasping on the other end of the line. Finally, he burst into the room, causing both Tony and Natasha to jump in surprise, turning to him.

"I've got Steve on the line," Sam announced, putting the call on speaker and placing the phone on the table at which Clint sat. Natasha and Tony gathered around the device, listening to the gunshots in shock.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., trace the call on Sam's phone," Tony ordered.

"On it, Boss," the artificial intelligence program assured him, and a trace began on the call immediately.

"Steve!" Sam called. "Steve, can you hear us? Steve!"

"Sam, I'm pinned down," Steve reported finally, his voice shaking as he gasped for air. "I don't think...I'm not sure I can get out of this."

"Don't even think about giving up, Cap!" Clint broke in.

"Clint?" they could all hear the surprise in Steve's voice, but their missing friend didn't say anything else on the matter; a sharp cry of pain cut off the conversation. They heard the phone clatter to the floor, followed by more gunfire.

"Rogers!" Tony called through the phone, worry and helplessness in his voice. "Rogers, what's going on?"

"Talk to us, Cap," Natasha chimed in, her hands clenched tightly into fists.

It didn't sound like Steve even heard them, only firing back—they assumed, since the gunshots were louder and closer than the first few volleys—at his attackers, breathing loudly and undeniably in pain. The other Avengers tried to call out to him, tried to keep him talking, but before long, the call cut out, and the four friends were left to deal with what they'd just heard.

* * *

 _ **Well, I gave you one short one, so I figured I should give you a longer one to make up for it. I hope you all enjoyed this installment, and please don't forget to review!**_


	7. Operation

Well, Steve certainly couldn't say that this was going to plan. Not that he'd had much of a plan to begin with, but whatever idea he'd had for how this escaping thing was going to go, this was definitely not it. The super soldier had a gushing bullet wound in his chest from when he'd tried to make a break for the stairwell while there was a pause in the gunfire. He might have made it if he hadn't heard Clint's voice—hearing the friend he'd believed to be dead had made him abandon all training and all objectives and just freeze—but regardless, he was stuck now, and the phone lay in pieces a little farther down the hall, having taken a bullet shortly after he did. He was crouched behind a metal table that he'd upturned when the gunshots started, just a few yards from the stairwell, and—in theory—a way out. Captain America gasped desperately, trying to steady his shaking hands. He was so exhausted from the last few days that even his adrenaline was starting to fail him, and if he didn't get out fast, he probably never would. Taking a deep breath, Steve loaded a fresh magazine and popped up over the table, firing back at the guards. He forced them to take cover around the corner at the end of the hall, and Steve took his chance.

Still firing, he stood up and made his way around the end of table, and once he made it to the entrance of the stairwell, he ceased fire, instead yanking open the door and pounding up the steps—the only way he could go—on shaking knees. He could hear the guards realizing he'd stopped shooting at them, and he made himself go faster. Up and up he went, until finally breaking into one of the floors. He grabbed a nearby metal chair—obviously left by a guard from night watch—and shoved it under the handle of the fire door. By this time, the super soldier's body was ready to quit, and he took a second, leaning against the cold cinder block wall, gasping for air as sweat dripped into his eyes and blood continued to flow from his bullet wound. He heard the guards getting closer, and he forced himself onward, deciding to turn left down the hallway, searching for some sort of exit sign, but there was nothing. He looked into every room, but most were empty until he got to the last one. Inside the last room on the left—opposite which was another stairwell—was what appeared to be an operating room. What shocked him, though, was who they appeared to be working on.

The patient they were operating on couldn't have been more than twenty-one, and he was strapped to a slightly-reclined chair. He was wearing an outfit not unlike what someone would wear in a real hospital: thin, light blue pants that appeared to have Velcro down the sides, white socks with grips on the bottom, and a white shirt that had buttons that snapped together instead of seams. He also had another disturbing accessory: the same metal collar that Steve had seen around the necks of all of his tablet-toting visitors. A section of the unwilling patient's hair had been shaved away, and the doctors behind him were drilling into his skull. The worst part, though, was that the young man was awake. His eyes were squeezed shut and leaking tears as his chest heaved and his jaw remained tight, but he was definitely awake. Steve watched the scene in horror, unable to look away, and his horror only grew when the young man opened his brown eyes and saw him through the window. Though he wouldn't speak, it didn't take a genius to see that the poor man was practically begging Steve to help him.

Steve's jaw set, and he reached for the door handle, but before he could do anything, another shot rang out, and all the doctors in the room looked up, noticing the escaped prisoner for the first time. Steve stared at them for a moment, suddenly finding it hard to breathe, and looked down to see a bullet hole in his ribcage. All at once, blood filled his mouth, and he coughed breathlessly, spraying the dark red liquid on the door as more spilled over his chin, putting a hand against the door to support himself. He looked back up through the window and saw the young man staring back at him in pure terror before his knees finally gave out, and he fell to the concrete floor, struggling to get air into his lungs. Footsteps came forward from the far end of the hall, and before long, Doctor Lobo came into view, grinning down at Steve viciously, letting out a small chuckle.

"It was a good effort, Captain Rogers," the man's voice sounded far away, and Steve struggled to remain conscious. The doctor lifted his boot and pressed down on the wound in his captive's chest. Steve gave a gargled cry of pain, turning his head to the side and coughing up the blood he was choking on, gritting his red stained teeth.

"Don't worry," Steve's eyes flicked to the side, looking up at Lobo as he crouched beside him. Lobo reached out and grabbed the wounded super soldier's jaw with his large, bony hand, turning his captive's head to look at him before saying with a snarl, "I'm not gonna let you get out of here that easily."

Steve glared up at him in disgust, but by that point, darkness was encroaching on his vision. The last thing he remembered before he surrendered to the waiting blackness was Lobo towering over him, watching him as he lay there dying.

* * *

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., tell me you got something," Tony said finally, being the first one to find his voice after their disturbing call.

"Sorry, Boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y. began, making the four Avengers' faces fall. "The call was encrypted; by the time I was able to start tracing the location, it was too late."

"Dammit!" Sam shouted angrily, slamming his fists on the table before pacing away from it, putting his hands on top of his head and interlocking his fingers, his jaw clenched in frustration.

"He sounded surprised to hear me," Clint said slowly. "Like, genuinely surprised."

"And?" Natasha raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well...he called Sam, so clearly, he knew he would answer," Clint went on. "But when I spoke, he sounded shocked to hear me. Like he thought I was dead. But if I've been with Sam this whole time, then why would he be surprised to hear us both alive? Unless he had some compelling reason to believe I was dead. For example—"

"If he saw us get blown up in the other building," Tony finished his thought for him. "Good, Barton...that's good..."

"How the hell does that help us?" Sam demanded, turning back around.

"Well, how could he have seen us?" Tony reasoned. "He wasn't in the building, so that leaves a video feed—he never would have believed it if someone just told him; he'd have to see it happen. And if he saw it on a video feed, then that means that that feed was transmitting to another location, presumably where they're keeping Steve. And if they're transmitting..."

"It means we can track the transmission from the source to the receiver," Natasha jumped in, her brow furrowed in thought as she nodded.

"And from there, we can find Steve," Tony concluded, relieved that they had found some sort of lead.

"Incoming call from Thaddeus Ross, Tony," F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced.

"Everybody, silence," Tony ordered, walking over to the nearby office phone. "Put him through, F.R.I.D.A.Y."

After a moment, the phone started ringing, and Tony answered it.

"Stark, we need to talk," Ross began, but Tony cut him off.

"I'm sorry, hold, please," he said politely.

"Dammit, Star—" Tony silenced his words as he put the call on hold and put the phone back on its cradle.

"Now, where were we?" Iron Man sighed. Clint opened his mouth to reply when Tony's cell phone began to ring in his pocket. With a groan, the superhero pulled it out, rolling his eyes at the caller ID and answering the call.

"For once in your life, Stark, stop being such a child," Ross growled.

"What do you want, Ross?" Tony asked, fighting to keep his cool. "I'm busy."

"Where are they, Stark?" Ross shot back. "I know they returned to the States. Where are they?"

"I can assure you, I don't know where your favorite boy band is staying, but I can ask around if you'd like," Tony scoffed.

"You know damn well who I'm talking about," Ross snapped irritably. "Just tell me where they are. Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"I'm totally lost, here; why don't you start at the beginning?" Tony suggested sarcastically.

"Stark, either hand over Barton, Wilson, and Rogers, or I'll have you arrested for obstruction," Ross threatened.

"Good luck," Tony laughed bitterly. "My lawyers will eat you for breakfast. Besides, you have no proof of anything. Now, is that all, or can I get back to work?"

Ross didn't say anything at first, but Tony could tell he was seething. "I'll see you soon, Stark," the Secretary promised. Then he hung up, and Tony turned to his companions.

"Time to go," he declared, gathering a few data drives and three laptops.

"What?" Natasha blinked.

"He's on his way; I can tell," Tony told her. "Let's move. Someone grab Wanda and Vision."

"What about Steve?" Sam argued. "We just gonna give up because of Ross?"

"No, you idiot," Tony rolled his eyes. "We're going to find him; we're just going to make sure we—and more specifically, you—don't get caught first. We're no use to Rogers in a box. Now quit your bitching and let's move."

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Please don't forget to review! Remember, reviewing is the best way to get me to write faster, so if you want more, please review!**_


	8. Will You Help Me?

Steve was fading in and out of consciousness for hours. At one point it dawned on him that he was still alive and that there were several people working on him to make sure that remained true, but other than that, his thoughts were faded and fleeting, his exhausted, oxygen- and sleep-deprived brain just about ready to give up. He couldn't fight the warm embrace of unconsciousness anymore, even if he wanted to. Instead, he let it consume him, finally allowing his mind to rest.

Several hours later, however, he was awakened once more. His eyes fluttered open, and he realized that he was looking up at the ceiling of one of the operating rooms. There were metal restraints pinning his shins and forearms to the table on which he was lying (the cuffs, much like the ones they'd used on him when they made him watch Tony and Natasha die, were very long and allowed for very little range of motion or leverage). Two padded cloth straps securely pinned his shoulders and knees down as well. The only thing he could move was his head, and it felt fuzzy, unclear, and heavy, so it wasn't something he wanted to do anyway.

Looking around, he saw that there was an IV feeding into his hand, the bag likely containing whatever was keeping him so drowsy—he would have burned off any single dose of anesthesia by then. He himself had lost the top half of his uniform in favor of the same white shirt he'd seen that young man wearing as the doctors drilled into his head. Turning to his left, he saw that his uniform had been discarded on the floor against the wall by the cabinets of medical supplies. He felt a pang of sadness, seeing it like that—it certainly hurt him to see it so carelessly tossed aside.

Steve searched the whole room, but couldn't see what exactly had made him wake up in the first place. His exhausted, drug-hazed mind pulled his eyes shut again, until he heard another sound and groaned quietly.

"Hey!" this time, the sound was distinctly a voice. "Hey, Spangles, wake up. Rise and shine. Chop chop; let's go!"

It took Steve a minute to realize that he recognized the voice, but when he did, his eyes flew open. Sure enough, his eyes were met by Tony Stark standing over him.

"What the actual hell?" Steve gasped, his eyes wide.

"Language," Tony scolded with a smirk. "Come on, Rogers; you can't be surprised that I'm here."

"Yes, I can," Steve argued. "You're dead."

"That I am," Tony nodded. "But, I mean, come on, old man; you're drugged, you're sleep deprived, and, well, then there's the part where you got me killed, so...are you really shocked that I showed up?"

"You know, Tony, I'm having a pretty bad day today, so if you could take your guilt trip somewhere else, I'd appreciate it," Steve sighed, his eyes falling closed again.

"I'd love to," Tony agreed. "Except I'm not here to guilt you. I'm here to help you. Step one is make some friends, so for God's sake, Rogers, _wake up!_ "

With those last two shouted words, Steve found himself jolting fully awake at last. Breathing hard, he looked around the room in an adrenaline-fueled haze to find it exactly as he'd last seen it, except that Tony was gone. However, the super soldier still wasn't alone in the room. With him was the girl he'd seen a grand total of four times in his captivity. Captain America let his head fall back, exhaustion once again taking hold on him, but after a moment, he swallowed and forced himself to speak.

"Hey," he said quietly, the one word exhausting him. Steve pried his eyes open and looked over at her only to find that she was looking at him too.

"Wh...what's your name?" the wounded man asked as she slowly stood up and walked towards him, her every movement hesitant and unsure. She didn't say anything, just staring at him in mute horror.

"Look, he's not here," the super soldier said gently. "You don't have to keep quiet; he won't know if you talk to me."

The young girl shook her head, tapping on the collar around her throat, and it was then that he understood.

"That son of a bitch..." Steve grumbled. Then he blinked hard and tried to think. "Okay, ah...You obviously understand English, so...do you know how to write in English?"

The girl didn't say anything for a moment, chewing her lip and glancing back at the door. Finally, she gave a short nod.

"Okay, then, how about you just spell it out for me?" Steve suggested. "Just write the letters in the air; he'll never know."

Several seconds passed where the girl looked at him in distress, and the captive could tell that he was already asking a lot of her—a fact that both saddened and sickened him. Then, out of the blue, she nodded again and lifted her finger, carefully tracing the first letter in the air. Steve had to really make himself focus, trying to blink away the drug-induced blurriness in his vision.

"A, M, I, R, A," he repeated each letter she traced until she dropped her hand. "Amira?" he ventured. The girl nodded. "Okay, Amira. My name's Steve. Listen, I...I'm going to try to get us all out of here, but I need—"

The super soldier quickly broke off when the door opened. Doctor Lobo walked into the room, and Amira quickly moved away from Steve's side, fear in her eyes. The doctor glanced at her, raising an eyebrow, but eventually turned his attention back to Steve, giving his prisoner a smile.

"Good to see you awake, Captain," the doctor commented.

"Why am I still alive?" Steve demanded, his voice weak and his eyelids heavy.

"I told you," Lobo sneered at him. "I'm not letting you get out of here that easily. You're going to stay here until I say otherwise. And on a related note..." his captor came closer, and Steve stiffened, shifting uncomfortably as he tried to angle himself away from the approaching man. It did him no good; Lobo reached out and grabbed a fistful of Steve's hair in his bony hand and pushed down, pinning the super soldier's head to the table. Again, the prisoner's chest began heaving, his hands clenching into fists as his jaw clenched and he swallowed hard.

"Who did you call, Captain?" the tall man demanded, leaning close enough for Steve to smell the cinnamon gum he was chewing. "And what did you tell them?"

Steve didn't answer, the smallest smirk pulling at his lips. Lobo's eyes flashed, and he pulled up on Steve's hair only to slam his head back down against the table. Captain America grimaced, his not-quite-healed fractured skull throbbing painfully.

"I asked you a question," Lobo snarled. "Now, tell me who you called."

"You'll find out soon enough," Steve laughed, the sound full of pain and distress.

Lobo studied him for a moment, then smirked down at him. "Alright, Captain Rogers," he said slowly. "If you don't want to tell me, then I'm going to have to assume that my operation has been compromised. And if that's the case, do you know what I have to do?"

"What?" Steve wasn't sure he wanted to know, but the question fell out of his mouth anyway.

In response, the doctor used his free hand to reach behind his back and pull out a gun, aiming it at Amira. The girl's eyes widened in terror, and she took a step back before freezing where she stood, holding her hands up slightly as if to defend herself.

"I have to scrap the project."

"No, wait!" Steve gasped, looking up at the doctor in horror. "Wait, don't!"

"Tell me what I want to know, Captain," Lobo ordered. "Or you're going to be responsible for her death and the death of every single civilian in this compound."

Steve stared at him in hatred and disgust for a moment, then swallowed hard.

"Who do you think I called?" he said at last. "I called my friends. I called my team."

"Not many members left on that team," Lobo chuckled. "What did you tell them?"

"I couldn't tell them much," Steve admitted. "I was a little busy running for my life. I said there was snow on the ground outside. So I managed to limit their search to the entire northern hemisphere."

Lobo hesitated, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. A few tense moments passed before he finally lowered his gun, allowing both Steve and Amira to relax. The doctor tucked his gun away again, then turned to look at the super soldier pinned to the table.

"Alright, Captain, here's how this is going to work," Lobo sighed. "You've clearly proven that I can't leave you alone anymore, so you're going to stay right here, strapped to this table, until I'm done with you. And I promise you, I'm going to make sure you have the most unpleasant experience I can possibly manage. You pissed off the wrong person, Captain Rogers. And you will regret it. I may have saved your life, but believe me, there are far worse things than death."

Steve just glared up at him, his adrenaline once again fading, causing him to have to force his eyes open in spite of the sedatives in his system. Lobo smirked down at him, then took a step back.

"I'm going to leave zero-nine-seven with you," he announced, walking around the table to which Steve was bound and stopping by his IV bag. "But be warned, Captain; she has been with me for a year now. She knows exactly what the consequences of her actions are—she will not help you. I'll see you soon."

With this, the doctor increased the drip rate of his IV, then left the room. As soon as they were alone, Steve turned to Amira.

"Amira, listen to me," he implored, knowing he didn't have a lot of time before the increased sedatives pulled him back into unconsciousness. "I know I'm asking a lot of you, but believe me, unless you work with me, none of us are ever getting out of here. Do you want to go home? Find your family?"

Amira nodded, fear in her eyes as well as an intense longing.

"Good," Steve smiled slightly. "Then you have to help me. I'm not sure how, yet, but I need to know that you'll help me when I ask. I swear to God, I won't let anything happen to you. Please."

Amira, of course, didn't say anything, chewing her lip nervously, uncertainty and the kind of terror that only comes from years of torment dancing in her eyes. Already, Steve could feel the irresistible pull of the sedatives on his mind, his eyelids feeling as heavy as lead, but he forced himself to stay awake, waiting anxiously for her response. Finally, she gave a quick, slight nod, and Steve let out a sigh of relief. He barely managed to utter a "thank you" before he was once again pulled into unconsciousness.

* * *

Thaddeus Ross strode purposefully into the Avengers' New Facility in upstate New York, eight of his men flanking him, the rest searching the compound. Anger fueled his movements; he'd had just about enough of Tony Stark—of the Avengers in general. Their insubordination was deplorable; it was as if none of them had ever learned how to take orders. He might have expected as much from Tony, Wanda, and maybe Vision, but the rest of them should really know when to do as they're told. Well, this time, he wasn't gonna take it. He was going to catch Tony in the act of aiding and abetting international fugitives. And boy, was he going to enjoy doing it. He was almost giddy as he threw open the door to the main briefing room to find...

Tony.

Just Tony.

In the process of building a card tower in the middle of the conference table.

Tony looked up from his work, rolling his eyes when he saw Ross.

"What do you want, Mr. Secretary?" Stark demanded for the second time that day, returning to his task and carefully placing a card on top of a pair of tent structures. His tower was impressive; he was on the third circular level, had already burned through two packs of cards, and his hands were steady as rocks as they worked. "I told you; I'm busy."

"Where are they, Stark?" Ross growled.

"Again, I told you; I don't know," Stark scoffed. "Try Africa. Wakanda, I believe. Oh wait; wouldn't that cause a major international incident?"

"This is not a game, Stark!" Ross snapped furiously, stepping forward and swatting the card structure furiously, knocking it all down in one fell swoop. Tony stared at his ruined creation with his jaw hanging, then threw the two cards in his hand down furiously.

"What the hell is your problem, Ross?" he shouted, standing up and rounding on him. "I was working on that for three hours!"

"You are harboring known fugitives!" the Secretary of State yelled back.

"Where?" Tony challenged, throwing his arms out to the side. "I don't see them, do you?"

"Need I remind you that since you signed those accords, you work for me?" Ross growled irritably.

"No, I work for the U.N., remember?" Tony raised an eyebrow. "And since I know you all haven't had any sort of committee meeting about any of this—God knows you could never come to a decision that fast—if there's nothing else, kindly take your goons and get off my property. Unless you've got a search warrant to show me."

Ross studied the billionaire before him, then scoffed, shaking his head, "If your father could see you now..."

"Okay, one, he can't," Tony fought to keep himself even remotely civil. "Two, I don't care what he'd say. Three, you don't get to talk about my parents, got it? Now get out."

For a moment, the Secretary of State didn't answer, then he gave a slight smirk, turning away from him.

"I will find them, Stark," Ross promised. "And when I do, I'm bringing you down with them."

"Good luck with that," Stark scoffed. "What is the point of this, anyway, Ross? Wherever they are, they're protected. You'll never get to them, and even if you do, they'll be out in a week, tops. What are you trying to prove, here? Actually, you know what? I don't care. Now, again, unless you have a warrant, I'm going to try and rebuild my tower."

Ross stared at him, enraged, but gave a small smirk and turned away. He was about to leave when he saw Steve's bloody, cracked helmet, which was resting beside the printer. He walked over to it, and Tony hurried to meet him, snatching it from his hands when he picked it up.

"Don't touch my stuff," Iron Man said icily.

"Where did you get that?" Ross demanded. "Why do you have it?"

"It's a good memory for me," Tony told him sarcastically. "It's the one time I kicked my good friend Steve's ass. Now get out."

Ross laughed slightly, as if he'd told a joke, then turned and nodded at his men, who all began to file out of the room.

"I'll be back, Stark," Ross called over his shoulder.

Tony watched him go, his jaw tight, and pulled up the security feeds on the screen in front of him, watching as the Secretary of State pulled his people out. He waited until they were all gone, then counted to fifty and made his way towards his room. He walked towards the back wall, then moved a photo he'd hung up of the entire team in Avengers tower and pressed his hand against the biometrics scanner that the photo was covering. The wall slid apart to reveal a secret elevator, and Tony replaced the picture before stepping inside, pressing a button and letting the elevator take deep underground, to a tunnel that led to a clearing about a mile and a half away, which he used the Iron Man suit he had waiting there to navigate. In the clearing, Barton was waiting in the Quinjet. Two hours later, the two of them were suited up and arriving outside the compound in which they'd both almost died.

"Natasha, you reading me?" Tony asked as he landed in front of the door.

"Loud and clear, Tony," Natasha confirmed. She, Sam, Wanda, and Vision were at Barton's still-super-secret house. In the background, Tony could hear Wanda playing with little Nathaniel.

"Perfect," Tony sighed, looking over at Barton, who nodded with his bow at the ready. "Let's go find our source."

* * *

 ** _I hope you all enjoyed this installment! I'm trying to be consistent with updates, but it's difficult with school. Rest assured that I am trying. Please don't forget to review, and if you liked this installment, don't forget to follow/favorite!_**


	9. Stark

Tony really, truly could not believe their luck. After searching the partially-destroyed compound for a second time, he and Clint had come up with the source of the transmitting video feeds.

But here was the kicker: it was actually still transmitting. Whomever had taken Steve was getting sloppy, probably feeling pretty secure after thinking they'd killed Tony, Natasha, and Clint—so secure, in fact, that they'd just left the video feeds transmitting and apparently hadn't even bothered to watch them. With Tony and F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s help, Natasha had been able to track the feed pretty close to where they'd taken Steve.

However, as it always does, their luck ran out. The transmission had ended before they could get an exact location, and none of them had had any luck. Finally, exhaustion had forced them to call it a night—though Vision had gone back to the New Facility to hold down the fort in case Ross showed up again—and so the five remaining Avengers retired to their rooms. At least, they had for a while.

While most of the team slumbered on, Tony had settled back in front of his computer screens, still trying to pin down Steve's location. He couldn't sleep. Every time he tried, he was met by the sound of his buddy's screams. So instead, he got up and went back to work, occasionally having to jolt himself awake and practically abusing the Bartons' coffee machine. He was on his fifth cup when Clint came down the stairs, stopping and leaning against the wall when he saw him.

"You're supposed to be asleep," the master archer said finally, his voice a little scratchy from sleep.

"Yeah, well, so are you," Tony replied, taking another sip of his coffee before returning to his task.

"You're no use to him burnt out, Stark," Clint reminded him. "You should at least grab a couple hours."

"I can't, Clint," Tony snapped, then stopped himself, forcing his voice to quiet down. "I can't do that. I can't just catch some z's while he's out there."

"Steve won't mind," Clint assured him, frowning. "You need to sleep, Tony."

"And what if while I'm sleeping, he's dying?" Tony challenged. "You don't get it, Clint. This is my fault. Again."

"How the hell is this your fault?" Hawkeye raised an eyebrow.

"I wasn't there!" Tony told him incredulously, as if it were obvious. "I signed those accords. I told Steve to give up his shield. I made him—I made every last one of you—a fugitive. You went in there with just the three of you because you didn't think I'd help—and you had every reason to believe that. And because you did, Steve is gone. This is my fault, Clint. Just like Ultron was my fault. So I have to fix it. I'm not going to sleep while he's out there getting hurt. I'm not going to let him die because I didn't do enough."

Clint studied his former colleague for a moment, then gave a slow nod.

"Okay," he allowed, walking the rest of the way into the room and sitting down beside him. "What do ya got?"

"Pretty much nothing," Tony reported miserably. "We were left with a huge search radius, even after chasing the signal all over the world. We got it down to a one hundred mile radius. Which, I mean, I guess that's pretty good, since we started with literally the whole entire northern hemisphere and they were bouncing the feed all over said hemisphere just to throw us off, but it's not giving me much to work with. Looks like they're staying in the largely uninhabited parts of Canada, but half the radius includes the ocean, and I've searched the land literally ten times; I've got nothing. There's no visible unusual activity, no exorbitant use of power by any one structure."

"Alright, what did Sam say Steve said before he got to us?" Clint asked.

"I asked him what he saw outside," Sam's voice made then turn towards the living room, where he'd crashed on the couch. Falcon was standing in the entryway, his voice tired and sleepy but his eyes wide awake. "And he said 'Snow. Lots of snow. A couple trees way out in the distance. Kinda weird, considering how hot they kept my room.' Then he said he couldn't tell exactly where he was because if he stopped to take a good look out the window, the guards would catch him. That's when I heard the first shots."

"Okay...lots of snow...limiting search to places with at least six inches of snow on the ground," Tony reported, typing away at his computer—he'd tapped into every satellite he could over the area in question. "That's still...ten thousand square miles. Give or take."

"Wait, can you get thermal from those satellites?" Clint asked.

"Not from any of the ones currently over the search area, but..." Tony pecked a few more keys, "One of my own satellites will be in position in about ten minutes. I can get thermal imaging from that one."

"Good," Clint nodded. "Do it. Cap said they kept his room hot; no matter where they're getting their power, they can't hide heat."

"Clint, you are a genius," Tony commended him. "Look, you guys should go back to sleep; I'll start the search when the satellite is in range and I'll let you know in the morning what I find."

"Well, we can't sleep now, Stark," Sam shook his head.

"Speak for yourself," Clint scoffed. "I'm going back to bed. Let me know what you find."

Sam and Tony watched Hawkeye head back upstairs, and Sam sat down beside his former colleague, neither exchanging much more than a glance with each other before just watching the screen in anxious anticipation.

* * *

"Steve, come on, man, wake up!" Steve flinched away from Tony's voice, slowly prying his eyes open.

"You're not even real," Captain America shook his head. "I'm not even awake...please just let me rest..."

"Can't do that, buddy," Tony refused. "You completed step one with flying colors. Now for step two: you gotta get as much information as you can from that girl."

"No, I need to rest," Steve argued. "I was awake for days, Tony, and they're finally letting me sleep; who knows how long that's gonna last? I've gotta sleep while I can."

"You can sleep when you're dead," Tony said dismissively. "Come on, man; don't give up now!"

"I'm not giving up," Steve denied. "I'm resting. Please, Stark; let me sleep."

"No," Tony refused. "You gotta wake up, Spangles. You promised that girl you wouldn't let anything happen to her; if you're gonna keep that promise, you gotta wake up and figure out everything you can. If you don't figure a way out of here, then I died for nothing. Now wake up."

"I couldn't if I tried," Steve shook his head. "I'm too drugged. I'm too tired. I'm hallucinating. I just want to sleep; now go away."

"Not gonna happen," Tony folded his arms over his chest. "Come on, Cap. You got hurt; go figure out what you gotta do to hurt 'em back. Sam and Clint are both still alive; you gotta get back to them. Hell, how's Barnes gonna feel when he thaws out and finds out you're dead? Let's go, Rogers. Fall in!"

With a groan, Steve finally gave in, and slowly, he forced his eyes open in the real world. Amira was sitting on a stool to his left, and when Steve glanced to his right, he saw that the IV drip had been significantly decreased—it might have even been slower than when he first woke up.

"Hey," Steve grumbled, looking over at the young girl again. "You doing okay?"

Amira nodded in confirmation, shifting in her seat. After a moment, she lifted her hand and spelled out "back soon" in the air.

"Doc'll be back soon?" Steve guessed. Again, the girl nodded. "Okay...okay, Amira, can you tell me anything about what he's doing? What he's planning?"

Amira hesitated, then spelled out "files."

"Files, you...you saw his files?" the captive ventured. She nodded, and Steve swallowed, his throat dry, before he continued. "Okay...what was in the files?"

Amira spelled out, "names."

"What names?"

Amira pointed at her fellow prisoner.

"Okay, my name," Steve nodded. "Anyone else?"

In reply, Amira spelled out the other name she'd seen so many times in conjunction with "Rogers," and when she did, Steve's blood ran cold.

"Stark?" he gasped. "Stark, wha—what did he say about Stark?"

Amira shook her head and raised her finger to write in the air again, but the door opened before she could, and she quickly dropped both her hand and her gaze. Doctor Lobo came in again, giving Steve another chilling grin.

"Alright, Captain Rogers," their captor sighed, studying Steve critically. "Let's get started."

* * *

 ** _Little short, but I wanted to post something before I headed to chem lab. I hope you enjoyed this installment, and as always, PLEASE don't forget to review!_**


	10. Observe and Report

"So that's the place?" Wanda said at last, her eyes still bleary from sleep. The four of the five Avengers (Vision was still at the New Facility) were clustered around Tony's computer screen while Clint made pancakes for Cooper and Lila and Laura fed Nathaniel.

"Yep," Tony nodded. The compound they were observing on screen was a huge, six-story gray building in the middle of an uninhabited island off the east coast of Canada. Trees—though sparse—grew around the structure in a likely man-made ring, just dense enough to obscure the view of boats passing by. Stationed on the roof and around the perimeter were guards, all dressed in identical black outfits. In the two hour window during which Tony was able to photograph the compound, they'd seen the guards' rotation schedule, and had even seen a rotation from the mainland—a boat had brought in around fifty new guards, and about fifty of the ones already on the island loaded up and shipped out.

"How do we get in?" Natasha asked.

"I bet a battering ram or the Iron Man equivalent would work," Tony suggested.

"No, we can't just go in there guns blazing," Clint shook his head, flipping the pancakes in front of him onto a plate before pouring more batter. "We don't know where Steve is, and that place is probably crawling with civilians—remember that we were on a rescue mission before they ever got to Cap."

"I don't know; I'm liking the direct approach at this point," Sam spoke up.

"No, no, Clint's right," Tony shook his head. "Okay, ah...Wilson, you still got your little drone?"

"His name is Redwing," Sam rolled his eyes.

"No," Tony refused.

"Whatever," Sam let out a weary sigh. "Yes."

"Good," Tony nodded. "You do a little recon on this place, get a better look at what we're dealing with, and we'll decide from there. We're going in no later than tomorrow; we can't let Steve stay there any longer than it takes to plan this right."

"Agreed," Clint chimed in, coming over to the table and placing a plate of pancakes in front of each of his two oldest children.

"Where are our pancakes, Clint?" Sam raised an eyebrow teasingly.

"Batter's by the stove, Wilson," Clint smirked, sitting down between his friends and his children. Sam scoffed, then quickly made himself a couple of pancakes and headed outside.

"Suit up, Stark!" Falcon called over his shoulder, his wings—and Redwing—already on his back. "Need you to take me where I gotta go."

Wordlessly, Tony stood up and followed his friend out the door, leaving their friends to do arguably the hardest job of all: wait.

* * *

"This is, without a doubt, the absolute dumbest thing I have ever let one of you talk me into doing," Sam grumbled, pulling on the pair of thick black pants Tony tossed at him. On the ground between them as they stood tucked away behind the tree line on the mainland, just a mile and a half from the island, were the bodies of two guards. They'd been headed to the dock to go take their shifts, but without warning, Tony had taken them out, and was now dragging Sam into an incredibly stupid, spur of the moment plan that Falcon was sure would get them both—and maybe Steve—killed.

"Oh, come on; I'm sure there have been dumber," Tony scoffed.

"No, no, this definitely takes the cake," Sam snapped. "We were not supposed to do this, Stark. This was just supposed to be observe and report."

"And we will observe and report," Iron Man promised, quickly pulling on his newly-acquired black coat over his borrowed dark blue shirt. "We'll just be doing it from the inside."

"This means we have no cover," Sam argued.

"True, but I can summon my suit with just a touch of a button," Tony tried to assure him. "Look, Wilson, we can't get close enough unless we do this. They'd spot...your drone—"

"Redwing."

"Fine. They'd spot _Redwing_ immediately, and who knows? They might kill Steve when they do. At least this way, we can really get an idea of what's going on here. We can get an accurate layout, find out where the civilians are, and most importantly, find out what the hell they're doing to Steve."

"We will have no backup."

"Yeah we will. Just might take them a little while to get here, is all. Look, if you want to back out, Wilson, just say so; I can go by myself."

"That's not happening."

"Well, the boat's leaving in five, so either hurry up and get ready, or hang tight with the bodies and make sure no one finds them early; we don't have time to argue about this."

"If we get caught, they could kill us all."

"Simple solution," Tony sighed, pulling the ski mask over his face with his gloved hands and picking up 'his' gun. "We don't get caught."

"I hate you," Sam grumbled before tugging his mask down over his face and grabbing his newly-acquired gun.

"Noted," Tony nodded. "Natasha, do you hear us?"

"Yeah, I got you loud and clear," Natasha reported through their coms. "And you're both idiots for doing this."

"We should be there, guys," Clint chimed in.

"Couple problems with that," Tony sighed. "One, getting two of us in there is risky enough. Two, one thing we noticed? All the guards are male. I'm not being sexist, here, Nat and Wanda; they are. I'll punch them extra hard on your behalf."

"Appreciate that, Stark," Tony and Sam could practically hear Natasha roll her eyes. "But we're coming to back you up whether you like it or not. I can maintain communication and monitor you guys from the Quinjet. At least that way when you inevitably screw this up for yourselves we'll be close enough to bail you out."

"Natasha, you really don't need to—" Tony began, but Wanda cut him off.

"Shut up, Stark; we're on our way," the young woman told him with finality. Tony and Sam exchanged surprised—yet impressed—glances before Sam spoke.

"Alright, well stay out of sight. Stark and I are going in—but I would like to go on record and say that this is a terrible idea."

"Noted," Clint chuckled softly. "Stay sharp; we'll be there soon."

With this, Sam and Tony turned and headed over to the cart that the two men had been driving when Tony took them out, which they'd hidden in some brush just off the (frozen) dirt road when they'd 'borrowed' their new outfits. Tony got behind the wheel, and then they were off, headed into uncertain territory.

* * *

Amira sat silent in the center of the compound's mess hall. At her table were the six others like her, all of them dressed exactly the same, right down to the collar around their necks. She knew all their names—the oldest boy was a year older than her at sixteen and was named Akeem; next oldest was a year younger than her at fourteen and named Ziyad; there was an eleven-year-old girl named Alaia sitting across from her; beside her was a ten-year-old boy named Jalal, who was across from another ten-year-old boy named Safi; and the last one of their group was kind of an odd one out. She was the youngest at eight, and while the rest of them were from various parts of the Middle East, she was from the Ukraine. Her name was Klara, and she, as always, was the most terrified one of them all. Even before they were 'selected' for the good doctor's special group, she had been the one trembling harder than all the rest of them in their room—though cell would be a more accurate description. It didn't help her that she didn't speak Arabic like the rest of them did, and it didn't help them that they didn't speak Ukrainian like she did. Of all of them, she had the hardest time; when the doctor gave them instructions, he allowed her to speak and translate for them, as she was the only one of the group who spoke English well enough to do so, but she couldn't explain to Klara. As a result, she often bore the brunt of the doctor's frustration, and Amira hated to leave her alone.

The seven of them were finishing off their meager meals—today the choices had been soup or a turkey sandwich—in total silence as the guards chattered away around them. The new relief guards were coming in from the mainland, which was their indication that their break from their tasks—monitoring the doctor's projects—was over. Wordlessly, they all got up, gathered their dishes, and returned them to the window at the front of the mess hall. Then they made their way towards the new guards. The guard in charge was waiting for them, and gathered the guards who were supposed to escort them where they needed to go. There were four of them—one for Amira and one for each remaining pair—and after the lead guard told each other guard where they'd be taking their respective charges, they were on their way.

However, shortly after the seven of them had split up to go to their respective assignments, Amira began to notice something off about her guard. He kept glancing at her, as if trying to figure out where he was supposed to be going. Finally, when he was sure they were alone, he took a deep breath and spoke.

"Psst," he hissed, getting her attention. "You have any idea where we're going?"

Amira blinked at him; she didn't recognize his voice, and she'd heard every guard in that place speak at least once. Slowly, she nodded in confirmation.

"Okay, great," the guard seemed relieved, looking straight ahead and only glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, clearly trying not to look like he was talking to her from the perspective of any of the cameras tracking their progress through the compound. "Because I don't. Listen, my name's Tony. I'm looking for a buddy of mine: Steve Rogers. Tall, blonde, obnoxiously confident in his ability to determine right and wrong, irritatingly right most of the time; ringing any bells for you?"

Amira looked down, trying to hide the fear in her eyes. Instead, she gave a tiny nod and stepped slightly in front of Tony, leading him up a flight of stairs and half way down a cold hallway before stopping outside one of the thick metal doors, looking at the man pretending to be a guard expectantly. Tony caught on quickly and pulled the keycard that was attached to his belt by a bungee and waved it in front of the black box next to the door. The red light on the box turned green, and Tony opened the door, allowing Amira to go in first before following her. What he saw made him freeze just inside the entrance.

Steve was ghostly pale as he rested on the hard metal table, which made the numerous bruises on his skin seem all the more severe. His skin was glistening with sweat, and even unconscious, he was trembling. There was a fresh, deep gash in his right bicep, about two inches long, and hovering over it, next to his IV bag, was a camera, which displayed the image of the wound on the screen mounted to the left hand wall, as well as a timer reading forty minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Looking closely, Tony could see several burn marks from a Taser. Electrodes were stuck to his head and a screen behind the captive soldier displayed his brainwaves.

"Oh my God," Tony grumbled. He reached up and pressed the button on the coms in his ear. "Natasha, I've got Rogers; he's alive," he reported before letting his gun hang across his back and stepping closer to his friend, gently putting a hand on his chest and shaking him, ignoring the loud demands from his friends wanting to know what was going on.

"Steve," he said urgently, trying to keep the fear from his voice. "Steve, buddy, can you hear me? Come on, man; you gotta get up. We've gotta get out of here."

For a moment, Steve didn't respond, but after Tony shook him again, the captive groaned and shifted, pinching his eyes shut before prying them open just the tiniest bit. When he saw Tony standing over him, he let out a weary breath.

"God, Stark, just leave me alone..." the super soldier grumbled. "Let me rest...whatever happened to 'dead men tell no tales?'"

"Only works for dead men," Tony smirked slightly.

"The hell are you talking about?" Steve forced his eyes open again, really looking at him for the first time, having only registered his eyes and his voice the first time around. "And why are you dressed like a guard? The hell kind of dream is this?"

"The kind that's not a dream," Tony told him. "Come on, Spangles; I'm getting you out of here."

Steve blinked at him in confusion, then shook his head slightly. "You...you died...I saw you die...wh—...how...?"

"Hello? Suit of armor? Ringing any bells?" Tony hid his concern with a roll of his eyes. "Give me a little more credit than that. Besides, that explosion was much more bang than boom, surprisingly; only brought down part of the building. Clint and Natasha hid in the air vent; they're fine, too."

"What are you doing here, Stark?" Steve asked, swallowing hard, his mouth dry. "You shouldn't...you shouldn't be here..."

"Neither should you," Tony retorted. "Come on; let's go. Let's get you back to your buddies in Wakanda. Come on, old man; we need to get out of here."

He started to try and release the restraints on Steve's wrists, but Amira's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand back.

"Tony, you can't," Steve groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as his head rolled to the side. "I can't...I won't leave without them, you...you should see what this guy's doing to them...I won't leave them..."

"Don't be stupid, Rogers," Tony growled. "They're killing you! We can come back for them; let's move!"

"No," Steve refused, glaring at his friend. "No, I won't...I won't leave them. You need to get out of here...Tony, your...your name was in the doctor's files, right in there with mine. You can't be here, Stark. You need to go."

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out, completely baffled at his friend's words. Before he could think of a response, Amira got their attention from her place by the door, looking out the small window into the hallway. Steve took one look at the panic and worry on her face and cursed under his breath.

"Okay, ah...Tony, you have to listen to me," the super soldier said urgently. "Just stand back, keep your head down, and no matter what they do, for once in your life, just stay quiet. Don't argue, Stark," he snapped when Tony tried to speak again. "Just do it. Please. Don't make me watch you die again."

Tony hesitated, then closed his mouth and straightened, getting his gun ready again and stepping back, standing by the wall as stone-faced as he could manage. Steve was just grateful that he was wearing a mask.

Moments later, the door opened, and Doctor Lobo came walking in, giving Steve a sadistic smile before frowning slightly at Tony.

"Why aren't you standing watch outside?" he asked, his voice non-accusatory but enough to make Steve's heart skip a beat. Tony started to answer, but as he had been numerous times that day, he was cut off, this time by Amira knocking on the corner of Steve's table to get the doctor's attention. When Lobo looked over at her, she pointed at herself, hoping she was managing to keep her poker face up.

"You asked him?" Lobo raised an eyebrow, and Amira nodded quickly, looking down and shifting her feet meekly.

"Why?" the doctor questioned. In response, Amira looked over at Steve, and Lobo let out a laugh.

"You're afraid of Captain Rogers," Lobo concluded in amusement. "Understandable. Now, Captain, let's see how you're doing."

Tony watched as Lobo walked around to Steve's right side, trying to hide the tightness in his jaw as the doctor examined the cut in his friend's arm.

"Amazing," Lobo mumbled after a moment. "It's been less than an hour and you can already see noticeable healing. I've had some success, but wow, whomever made you was a genius."

"If you really think you're going to get away with this, you're insane," Steve growled, struggling to keep his eyes open and doing his best to ignore Tony completely.

"You think so?" Lobo raised an eyebrow. "Captain Rogers, no one is coming for you, and even if they did, it wouldn't be with a force large enough to take on my armies; the Accords won't let them. You're not a hero anymore; you're a fugitive. They won't authorize anything to save you, and if your friends come back, they can't bring enough firepower alone. The committee in charge of what's left of the Avengers won't even acknowledge that over a thousand refugees are actually missing to begin with, so they won't authorize a rescue mission for them, either. You lost the second you decided to go have one more mission. You should have stayed in hiding, Captain. But, since you didn't, you're going to stay right here, and I'm going to figure out what the hell is so special about you."

"The hell are you talking about?" Steve scoffed, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to stay awake.

"You're a super soldier, Captain," the doctor rolled his eyes. "People have been trying to recreate you for years. I'm finally close, but all of my subjects...they tend to overheat. Either their brains swell uncontrollably, or they get an insurmountable fever, or, in a few cases, they have an allergic reaction and go into anaphylactic shock before I can even tell if my serum took or not. It's frustrating to say the least. For some reason, I cannot get my serum to stabilize in the human body consistently—it's worked only twice so far, and I'm not holding high hopes that either one of them will survive much longer. And yet here you are, walking around with no ill effects seventy-five years after your injection. I want to know how that's possible."

"It's never going to work," Steve laughed, blinking lazily. "The best minds in the world had seventy-five years to figure it out, and none of them did; if they couldn't, well, then, you sure as hell can't."

Doctor Lobo's eyes flashed angrily, and without warning, he pulled an electric baton off his belt and flicked it on, jabbing it into Steve's ribs. The super soldier let out a strangled scream through his tightly clenched teeth, and by the wall, Tony tensed visibly, his grip on his gun tightening. He held his breath as he watched his friend writhe on the table, feeling so powerless that his chest got tight.

Finally, after what felt like ages, the doctor pulled the baton back, and Steve was left gasping on the table. Tony finally allowed himself to breathe again, forcing his grip on the gun to relax, although he tensed right back up when Lobo grabbed a handful of Steve's hair, pinning his head in place as Steve glared up at him.

"You should remember who you're talking to, Captain," the doctor warned. "I know you're used to calling the shots, but you're in my domain now. So either you keep your mouth shut, or I'll be continuing my experiments on your corpse."

"If you think I'm really going to cooperate with you, you've got another thing coming," Steve scoffed, even as Tony stared at him, desperately trying to gain telepathic powers so he could tell his friend to shut up. "You experiment on innocent, unwilling people. You torture children. You tear families apart. You take advantage of people running for their lives only to put them in just as bad a hell as they'd just escaped. If it's the last thing I ever do, I will bring you down."

"Really?" Lobo smirked, lifting the electric baton again, letting the charge buzz threateningly and smiling when Steve flinched. "You and what army? I'll remind you again, Captain; you have no one."

"Maybe not," Steve allowed, eyeing the baton nervously. "But I've done more with less."

The doctor glared hatefully at the ninety-eight-year-old on his table, then released his grip on the man's hair and jabbed the baton into his chest, right below his sternum. Steve tried, but he couldn't stop himself from screaming in agony, his tired, tense muscles rippling under his skin as he struggled against his restraints, trying desperately to get free, to fight back, but it was useless and he knew it.

And it was at that precise moment that Tony couldn't take it anymore. Ignoring the voices of his colleagues in his ear and going against Steve's wishes, he raised the gun in his hands and took aim at the doctor. Lobo looked at him with an unreadable expression, not moving the baton from Steve's chest.

"Get that thing away from him or I swear to God, I will shoot you," Tony snapped over the sound of Steve's screams. Lobo hesitated, then smirked slightly and pulled the baton back from his captive's body, allowing Steve to gasp for air, his heart pounding uncontrollably and his adrenaline fighting against the sedatives in his system.

"Come on, Rogers," Tony said slowly, stepping towards Steve and using one hand to start freeing him from the table, "I'm getting you out of here."

"No, you're not," Lobo shook his head, smiling. Tony looked at him in hatred and uneasiness, not liking how calm he was.

"Mister Stark," with the doctor's utterance of Tony's name came about twenty guards into the room, their guns at the ready and all aimed at him as Amira cowered in the back corner.

"So nice of you to join us."

* * *

 ** _Hello, all! Extra long break means extra long chapter. I hope you all enjoyed, and please don't forget to review! Thanks for reading!_**


	11. Off to Work

_**Okay, this one is a little short, but I really wanted to get something out to you. Hope you enjoy! Don't forget to tell me what you think!**_

* * *

"God dammit, Tony," Sam grumbled under his breath, hearing everything. "Guys, what do we do?"

"You stay in position, Sam," Natasha ordered. "We're going to get in there somehow. Try to find us an opening."

"On it. I'll let you know what I can find out," Sam promised. "May need to get Clint in here, since I just lost my backup."

"Just say the word, Sam," Clint piped up. "I'm geared up."

"I'll find you a window," Sam assured him. "Gonna need help searching this place."

Clint didn't respond, instead deciding to stay silent so they could listen to what was going on with Tony.

Upstairs, Tony hadn't lowered his gun, still aiming at Lobo, his eyes shifting around the mass of guards that had surrounded him.

"Dammit, Stark," Steve gasped, shaking his head. "You shouldn't have done that...I told you to stay quiet..."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't about to let him keep electrocuting you," Tony sighed.

"What? You mean like this?" Lobo smirked and jabbed the baton into Steve's side, prompting the super soldier to scream again in pain. Tony took a step towards Lobo threateningly, not caring when the guards around him mimicked his movements.

"I told you to get that away from him!" Tony snapped. Lobo laughed as he pulled the baton back, allowing Steve to breathe again. On the table, the super soldier coughed and gasped, his expression showing his discomfort.

"You may as well put the gun down, Mr. Stark," he sneered. "You have no play, here. In case you didn't notice, you're surrounded. You shoot me, and you and Captain Rogers will be killed. Put the gun down."

Tony hesitated, shifting his eyes to Steve. His friend was looking up at him, his eyes a mix of emotions, the most prominent of which being defeat. Tony pressed his lips together under the mask, then reluctantly lowered the gun and let it hang from its strap in front of his body, lifting his hands up by his head. The guards around him took their cue, quickly relieving him of the weapon and cuffing his hands behind his back before ripping the mask off his head.

"You know, I should thank you, Mr. Stark," Lobo said with a grin, clearly feeling like he already won. "You made this so much easier for me. You came right to me. I thought I was going to have to search you out, but here you are. Thank you."

Tony just glared at the man across the table from him, and Lobo laughed at him. After a moment, he quieted himself, though his eyes still gleamed triumphantly.

"Now, just one more matter to take care of before we get down to business," he announced. Steve felt his stomach drop when the doctor turned and looked over at Amira, pointing at her with the baton. "You lied to me, my dear."

"No, no, no," the exhausted super soldier interrupted before Lobo could say anything else. "We threatened her; it wasn't her fault."

"You really expect me to believe that Iron Man and Captain America threatened a child?" Lobo raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly, clearly not buying it.

"We didn't have a choice," Steve shook his head. "We were never actually going to hurt her, obviously, but she didn't know that, and if we didn't make sure she didn't say anything, we were screwed. This wasn't her fault, understand? She didn't do anything wrong."

Lobo hesitated, deciding whether or not he should humor Steve and accept his story, even though he didn't, for a moment, believe it. Finally, he shrugged.

"Whatever you say," he allowed at last, allowing Steve to let out a breath. "Well, Captain, I think we'll leave you in peace for now."

With this, the doctor turned up the flow of sedatives, wanting to make sure that his subject would not be awake while he was gone. Tony saw Steve visibly fighting the drug's pull, but before long, the super soldier had no choice but to surrender to the awaiting blackness. As soon as Steve was out of the way, Lobo turned to Tony and smiled viciously.

"Come with me, Mr. Stark," he ordered. As the guards not restraining the billionaire filed out and Lobo headed for the door, he called over his shoulder, "Zero-nine-seven, walk with us."

Amira jumped at his voice, but after a moment, scurried after him as he left the room. Tony was pushed out after her, and together, they made their way through the compound. As they walked, Tony made a point to memorize the route, wanting to be able to get back to Steve at his first opportunity. The group made its way down two flights of stairs, down a hallway, and through a set of double doors. Inside was a lab, with scientists busily working away, running various tests and discussing the results with each other. On the left-hand wall, there were three large television screens. The one in the middle displayed a live feed of Steve, passed out on the table, along with his vitals. On the left, Tony saw a young woman in her twenties with long black hair. She was curled up on a cot in a white room, soaked in sweat and shivering. Her vitals were also displayed on the screen, including her temperature, which was hovering around thirty-nine degrees Celsius, or a hundred and two degrees Fahrenheit. On the right, the screen displayed a young man, no older than twenty-one, lying unconscious on a cot in an identical white room, also sweating and running a fever of thirty-eight degrees Celsius—about a hundred degrees Fahrenheit. There was a square of gauze taped on the back of the young man's head, spotted with blood, and Tony felt his stomach lurch.

"What exactly is it you want from me?" Tony demanded after taking in his surroundings.

Lobo hesitated, studying him for a moment, before smirking slightly. "Your mind," he replied at last. "I want you to figure out a way to make my serum stabilize in the human body. Your father helped create Captain Rogers; like father, like son."

"Biology...not really my thing," Tony shook his head.

"Of course, of course," Lobo nodded. "But you being as smart as you are, Mr. Stark...I'm sure you can figure it out. And you better—if you don't, those two up there?" He pointed to the two monitors on either side of the one showing Steve. "They're going to die. And if you try anything, well...I won't kill your friend, Mr. Stark, but I will hurt him. I will make life a lot harder for him. Understand?"

Tony was quiet for a moment, his jaw twitching in anger and frustration, but eventually, he looked down and nodded. Lobo smiled, still feeling very secure in his victory.

"Good," the doctor approved, motioning for the guards to remove the cuffs from his wrists. "Now, since I know what you managed to do the last time you were left to your own devices, these guards are your new best friends. And, say hello to John and Devon."

At this, two of the scientists came over. One was about Steve's height, with dark brown hair and matching eyes, and the other was a little shorter with dark red hair and green eyes.

"They will be supervising you and bringing you up to speed. I trust you won't give them any trouble."

Tony scoffed at the idea, but Lobo just smiled and turned to the two scientists, whispering something that the billionaire couldn't hear. The scientists smirked and nodded before looking over at Tony, each wearing a knowing grin. Tony shifted uncomfortably as Lobo turned back around to face him.

And, last but not least..." Lobo turned to Amira, who was standing back awkwardly, her right hand holding her left forearm. Without warning, Lobo brought his arm across his body and backhanded the young girl so hard that she fell to the floor. Tony tried to go to her, but his guards stopped him, and Amira cowered on the hard tile floor, tears falling from her eyes silently as she fought back her sobs. Tony had no choice but to watch helplessly as Lobo crouched down beside Amira and grabbed her jaw, turning her head to face him.

"Lie to me again, my dear, and I will kill you myself," Lobo growled, his eyes darkening. "Do you understand me?"

Amira nodded fearfully, and Lobo smiled his crooked smile.

"Good," he approved. "Then go back to your room; I won't be needing you for the rest of the day."

Amira nodded again and got to her feet after he released her, casting a quick glance in Tony's direction before hurrying off. Tony watched her go with concern on his face, and glared hatefully at Lobo when the doctor turned back to him. Lobo laughed softly, then waved a hand, dismissing Tony's concern and walking towards the exit.

"Get to work, Mr. Stark."


	12. Uncovered Secrets

Late that night, as everyone started to wind down for the night, Sam Wilson opened up the side door just enough for Clint to slip through with his bow and quiver, dodging the flood lights and the guards doing their rounds. Wordlessly, Sam guided him to an empty room not far away, using his keycard to open the door. Only when they were sure they were alone did Clint finally speak.

"Alright, I'm in," he sighed, putting his quiver back across his back. "Nat, Wanda, you guys hear me?"

"Loud and clear," Natasha replied. "Sam, what's going on?"

"Okay, so, I know where they're keeping most of the civilians, and I know that the doc's got at least seven kids...I mean, working with isn't the right word, but they're assisting him with his work. They don't stay with the rest of them. I don't know where Cap is, and I don't know for sure where Tony is, but I think he's on the main floor. Either that, or the basement. Guards rotate positions every hour. Not sure how many of them there are, but there are a lot. From what I can tell, there's really no easy way in, either; not for the kind of manpower we're going to need to get everyone out."

"What about an easy way for Steve to get out?" Natasha asked.

"Steve will not leave without them," Clint dismissed the idea immediately. "Guys, I hate to say it, but...we might not have the numbers to deal with this."

"We'll figure it out," Wanda spoke up. "Until then, we have to find Steve."

"I'm with Clint, guys," Sam admitted grudgingly. "This place is huge, and I'm not sure we can get all the civilians out, plus Steve in the condition he's in. Not to mention the fact that Tony's not exactly ready to go."

"One problem at a time, guys," Natasha scolded. "Clint, take a look around, see if you can't get me patched into their security systems. Sam, keep blending in, and keep an eye on those civilians; we'll keep you updated."

"On it," Clint replied dutifully.

"I found you an extra keycard," Sam reported, handing the plastic rectangle to his friend, who took it gratefully. "Good luck."

Clint nodded at him, and then Sam left the room first, making sure the coast was clear before motioning for Clint to follow. He silently reminded his colleague to avoid the cameras, and then the two of them went their separate ways.

Meanwhile, Tony was hard at work in the lab, torn between not wanting to do anything to help Lobo and not wanting to let those two apparent test subjects die. He could hear everything his colleagues were discussing, but he couldn't say a word to help them, which was frustrating to say the least. With a soft groan, Tony tossed aside the file of test results he'd been reading and rubbed his eyes wearily. It was getting late, and the lab had nearly emptied of workers, most of them retiring for the night, except for John and Devon, who were both running tests and watching him closely. As Tony let his face rest in his hands, giving his tired eyes a break, the doors behind him opened, and Lobo walked in. Tony turned in his seat to look at him, then turned back to his files, at least attempting to look busy. Lobo smirked and looked over at John and Devon, asking them without words to give him a minute. The two scientists obediently left the lab.

Tony tried not to react as he heard Lobo walk over to his table. The doctor pulled up a stool on Tony's right and sat down, looking at him with a smile. After a moment, Tony closed the file and turned to face his captor.

"What?" he demanded finally, tired of the silence.

"How's it coming, Stark?" Lobo asked, sounding amused. Tony noticed the file folder in Lobo's hand, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Fine," he answered after a moment. "I'm getting caught up on what's been done so far."

"Good," Lobo approved. The two lapsed into silence again until Tony couldn't take it anymore.

"What exactly do you want?" he asked irritably.

Lobo smirked at him. "First things first," he tapped his ear knowingly, and Tony froze. Lobo's smirk became a smile as he motioned for Tony to hand over the earwig in his ear. The hero hesitated as he glanced over at the TV screen displaying Steve's image before doing as he was told, removing the earwig and handing it to his captor. Wordlessly, Lobo grabbed a beaker and a bottle of acid, poured some acid into the beaker, and dropped the device into beaker, destroying the only link Tony had to his friends both in the compound and outside. A muscle in Tony's jaw twitched as he stared at it, until he shifted his eyes back to Lobo, hatred in his gaze.

"How long did you know?" he asked after a moment.

"Since I saw you on camera with Captain Rogers," Lobo laughed quietly. "I wanted a little time to find your signal; I'm now scanning the whole compound for similar transmissions, so whatever buddies you brought with you will be found soon enough."

Tony was quiet, contemplating just shooting Lobo in the face with the repulsor hidden in his watch. Ultimately, he decided against it, but the temptation was growing stronger with every passing second of staring at Lobo's smug expression.

"So what is it you want, Doc?" inquired Tony after taking a breath to calm himself. "Why'd you come all the way down here? I know it wasn't just to break my toys, so what is it?"

"I'm unimpressed with your work thus far," Lobo told him. "Mostly because it's nonexistent."

"I've been here for a few hours, max, and there's a lot to catch up on," Tony argued defensively. "Even I can't just walk in and be an expert on a project I know nothing about."

"Still, I thought some motivation was in order," Lobo smiled again, that crooked, toothy smile that made Tony's skin crawl, as he held up the folder in his hand. "Now, for whatever reason, you're not quite as receptive to the idea of protecting Captain Rogers as I thought you would be. Maybe it's because you know I won't kill him, and you think he can handle whatever pain I throw at him if it buys you enough time to do whatever it is you plan to do. But tell me, Mr. Stark...does the name Peter Parker mean anything to you?"

Tony didn't let anything show on his face as he shook his head. "No," he denied. "Can't say it does."

"Really?" Lobo raised one eyebrow at him. "That's odd. Why, then, did you go see Mr. Parker shortly before your showdown with Captain Rogers in Germany, at which time a previously unknown element joined your team: Spider-Man."

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about," Tony was surprisingly convincing in spite of the disturbing amount of knowledge Lobo seemed to have about, one, his movements and whereabouts, and two, the young teenager Tony had—perhaps foolishly—recruited.

Lobo looked amused, and tossed the file down on the table, opening it up to reveal surveillance photos of Peter, as well as a couple pictures of Spider-Man.

"Peter Parker," Lobo sighed. "Fifteen years old. Crazy smart. Attends the Midtown School of Science and Technology. And he just so happens to disappear from classes and clubs just before Spider-Man is spotted not too far away. I know all about him, Mr. Stark. I know where he sleeps. I know who is friends are. I know that he doesn't actually have an internship at Stark Industries, despite what he tells everyone. I know his friends, his route to school, his teachers, his crush, his aunt, everything. And I will destroy him if you don't give me what I want."

Tony was speechless, his stomach tying up in knots, even as he kept his poker face. Lobo took his silence as apathy and shrugged.

"Well, if that's not enough, we could always look away from the Avengers and look at you and your friends, like Happy and Pepper and Rhodes. Granted, Rhodes is an Avenger, but he's pretty vulnerable right now, isn't he? After what happened in Germany, I mean. I've been watching you and Captain Rogers for years, Mr. Stark; I know everything about you both, and about the people you care about. In fact, I know where they are right now. Peter was supposed to be in bed; he has a math test tomorrow. However, he's taking care of a couple muggers a couple blocks from his apartment. Rhodes can't sleep again, so he's trying to walk around his room a little bit, get those legs working hard. With assistance, of course; he can't do it alone yet. So far, so good; he hasn't fallen yet. Progress. And as for Pepper, well—"

"Stop," Tony cut him off. "I get it."

"Good," Lobo grinned, seeming pleased. "The friends you may have brought with you into this compound are going to die, Mr. Stark; I'm not going to catch them when I find them. There's nothing you can do to prevent that."

At this, Tony's anger and frustration boiled over, and he stood up quickly from the stool he sat on, starting to lunge for Lobo, only stopping when Lobo pulled the electric baton from his belt again, flicking it on in a second. Tony stood frozen in place, looking down at the baton's electricity dancing between the prongs on the end, just an inch from his chest.

"Careful," Lobo warned. "I have this amped up to Captain Rogers' level. I know you've had some heart problems in the past, Mr. Stark, but get in the way of this, and it may just stop altogether. Now, sit down."

Tony hesitated, his eyes shooting daggers at his captor, but eventually did as he was told, sitting back down atop the metal stool. Lobo smiled at him victoriously.

"Now, as I was saying," he continued. "I'm going to kill the friends you've brought into my compound today; there's no avoiding that. But just remember: I can make it a whole lot worse, even if I never lay a finger on Captain Rogers. I am too close to what I've been working for years to achieve to let you screw it up. So you either do your part, or I tear your whole world down. Do we understand each other?"

Tony begrudgingly nodded, anger, hatred, and frustration radiating off of him as he clenched his fists tightly, his jaw set. Lobo chuckled, amused, and picked up the file containing the photos of Peter. The doctor stood up, heading for the door.

"Oh, and don't worry, Mr. Stark," he called over his shoulder. "As long as you behave yourself, young Mr. Parker's secret is safe with me."

Tony didn't reply, still steaming and beyond worried. When he was alone, he looked at the earpiece submerged in the acid in the beaker in front of him, feeling his stomach tighten. He needed to find a way to warn the others about their earpieces, that their communication would tip off Lobo to where they were, and he needed to do it fast, or Clint and Sam were done for. The only question at that point was how.

* * *

 _ **Hi all. It's been a while. Haven't been too motivated to write this one, to be honest, but I can't sleep and I'm in a Marvel mood, so please, don't forget to leave your comments and feedback, and as always, thank you for reading.**_


End file.
